CONCORD    DAYS. 


CONCORD  DAYS 


BY 


A.  BRONSON  ALCOTT 


Cheerful  and  various  thoughts  not  always  bound 
To  counsel,  nor  in  deep  ideas  drowned." 

JAMES  IIoWEi,. 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS 
1872. 


\ 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872, 

BY  A.  BKCXNSON  ALCOTT, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  "Washington. 


Stcreotiftjfd  and  Printed  by 

A  i,  FEED   MUDGE    &   SDK,   Bos T OK. 


'CONTENTS. 


APRIL. 

PAGE 

DIARIES 3 

MY  HOUSE          .                              4 

OUTLOOK 10 

THOREAU 11 

SELF-PRIVACY 21 

SUNDAY  LECTURES 23 

EMERSON 25 

JlECREATION 41 

GENEALOGIES 45 

SCHOLARSHIP  49 


MAY. 

RURAL  AFFAIRS 59 

PASTORALS 65 

CHANNING'S  "NEW  ENGLAND" 60 

CONVERSATION 72 

MARGARET  FULLER 77* 

CRASHAWS'S  IDEAL  WOMAN 79  • 

CHILDHOOD 83 


V1  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

PYTHAGORAS 88 

CONVERSATION  WITH  CHILDREN     .      • 92 

PLUTARCH'S  LETTER  TO  HIS  WIFE         .  108 


JUNE. 

BERRIES 117 

CHANNING'S  "  BLUEBERRY  SWAMP  " 121 

LETTERS 123 

BOOKS 133 

CRASHAW'S  VERSES  ADDRESSED  TO  A  LADY         .       .       .  140 

SPECULATIVE  PHILOSOPHY 143 

PLOTINUS 148 

IDEAL  CULTURE 151 

GOETHE 157 

CARLYLE  1GO 


JULY. 

INDEPENDENCE  DAY 167 

PHILLIPS 172 

GREELEY 176 

AGE  OF  IRON  AND  BRONZE 178 

CONVERSATION  ON  ENTHUSIASM 183 

SWEDENBORG 187 

HAWTHORNE 193 

LANDOR 197 

SLEEP  AND  DREAMS 201 

GENESIS  AND  LAPSE 205 


AUGUST. 

PLATO'S  LETTERS 213 

PLATO  217 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

PAGE 

PLATO'S  METHOD 222 

SOCRATES 234 

BERKELEY 236 

BOEHME 237 

MR.  WALTON'S  LETTER 240 

CRABBE  ROBINSON'S  DIARY 245 

COLERIDGE 246 

SELDEN'S  TABLE-TALK     ........  249 

-WOMAN                                .          .  253 


SEPTEMBER. 

WALDEN  POND 259 

CHANNING'S  "WALDEN" 259 

THE  IDEAL  CHURCH         .  265 

COLLYER 269 

BEECHER .        .       .  269 

IDEALS 270 

HEYWOOD'S  "SEARCH  AFTER  GOD"      ...  273 


APRIL. 


1889. 


'Now  fades  the  last  long  streak  of  snow 


CONCORD  DAYS, 


DIARIES. 

THURSDAY,  1. 

COME  again  into  my  study,  having  sat  some  time 
for  greater  comfort  in  the  sunnier  east  room  by 
an  open  fire,  as  needful  in  our  climate,  almost,  as  in 
that  of  changeable  England.  Busy  days  these  last, 
with  a  little  something  to  show  for  them.  After  all, 
I  am  here  most  at  home,  and  myself  surrounded  by 
friendly  pictures  and  books,  free  to  follow  the  mood  of 
the  moment,  —  read,  write,  recreate.  I  wish  more  came 
of  it  all.  Here  are  these  voluminous  diaries,  showy  seen 
from  without,  with  far  too  little  of  life  transcribed 
within.  Was  it  the  accident  of  being  shown,  when  a 
boy,  in  the  old  oaken  cabinet,  my  mother's  little  journal, 
that  set  me  out  in  this  chase  of  myself,  continued  almost 
uninterruptedly,  and  now  fixed  by  habit  as  a  part  of 
the  day,  like  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun  ?  Yet  it 
has  educated  me  into  whatever  skill  I  possess  with  the 


4  CONCORD  DAYS. 

pen,  I  know  not  to  how  much  besides ;  has  made  me 
emulous  of  attaining  the  art  of  portraying  my  thoughts, 
occupations,  surroundings,  friendships  ;  and  could  I  suc 
ceed  in  sketching  to  the  life  a  single  day's  doings,  should 
esteem  myself  as  having  accomplished  the  chiefest  feat 
in  literature.  Yet  the  nobler  the  life  and  the  busier, 
the  less,  perhaps,  gets  written,  and  that  which  is,  the 
less  rewards  perusal. 

"  Life 's  the  true  poem  could  it  be  writ, 
Yet  who  can  live  at  once  and  utter  it." 

All  is  in  the  flowing  moments.  But  who  shall  arrest 
these  and  fix  the  features  of  the  passing  person  behind 
the  pageantry,  and  write  the  diary  of  one's  existence  ? 


MY    HOUSE. 

SATURDAY,  3. 

MY  neighbors  flatter  me  in  telling  me  that  I  have 
one  of  the  best  placed  and  most  picturesque 
houses  in  our  town.  I  know  very  well  the  secret  of 
what  they  praise.  'T  is  simply  adapting  the  color  and 
repairs  to  the  architecture,  and  holding  these  in  keeping 
with  the  spot. 

A  house,  like  a  person,  invites  by  amiable  reserves, 
as  if  it  loved  to  be  introduced  in  perspective  and  reached 
by  courteous  approaches.  Let  it  show  bashfully  behind 
shrubberies,  screen  its  proportions  decorously  in  plain 
tints,  not  thrust  itself  rudely,  like  an  inn,  upon  the 


APEIL.  5 

street  at  cross-roads.  A  wide  lawn  in  front,  sloping  to 
the  road  gracefully,  gives  it  the  stately  air  and  courtly 
approach.  I  like  the  ancient  mansions  for  this  reason ; 
these  old  Puritan  residences  for  their  unpretending  air, 
their  sober  tints,  in  strict  keeping  with  Wordsworth's 
rule  of  coloring,  viz.  that  of  the  sod  about  the  grounds. 
A  slight  exaltation  of  this  defines  best  the  architecture 
by  distinguishing  it  from  surrounding  objects  in  the 
landscape.  Modest  tints  are  always  becoming.  White 
and  red  intolerable.  And  for  some  variety  in  dressing, 
the  neighboring  barks  of  shrubbery  suggest  and  best 
characterize  the  coloring. 

As  for  fences  and  gates,  I  was  told  that  mine  were 
unlike  any  other  in  the  world,  yet  as  good  as  anybody's, 
hereby  meaning  to  praise  them,  I  infer.  If  less  durable 
than  others,  the  cost  is  inconsiderable,  and  has  the 
associated  pleasure,  besides,  of  having  come  out  of  such 
ideal  capital  as  I  had  invested  in  my  own  head  and 
hands.  A  common  carpenter  would  have  spent  more 
time  in  planing  and  fixing  his  pickets  and  set  some 
thing  in  straight  lines  with  angular  corners  to  deform 
the  landscape ;  then  the  painter  must  have  followed 
with  some  tint  mixed  neither  by  nature  nor  art.  Now 
my  work  delights  my  eyes  whenever  I  step  out-of-doors, 
adding  its  ornament  to  the  spot.  Grotesque  it  may  be 
with  its  knotted  ornaments,  Druid  supports,  yet  in  keep 
ing  with  the  woods  behind  it.  Besides,  what  pleasure  the 
construction  has  given !  Form,  color,  ornamentation 
alike  concern  builder  and  occupant,  as  they  were  bios- 


6  CONCORD  DAYS. 

soms  of  his  taste  and  of  the  landscape.  A  good  archi 
tect  is  both  builder  and  colorist,  and  should  be  a  good 
man  besides,  according  to  the  ancient  authorities. 
Roman  Vitruvius  claims  as  much,  if  not  more,  of 
him :  — 

"  It  is  necessary,"  he  says,  "  that  an  architect  should 
be  instructed  in  the  precepts  of  moral  philosophy^  for 
he  ought  to  have  a  great  soul,  and  be  bold  without 
arrogance,  just,  faithful,  and  totally  exempt  from 
avarice.  He  should  have  a  great  docilityy  which  may 
hinder  him  from  neglecting  the  advice  that  is  given 
him,  not  only  of  the  meanest  artist,  but  also  of  those 
that  understand  nothing  of  architecture  ;  for  not  only 
architects  but  all  the  world  must  judge  his  works." 

Houses  have  their  history,  are  venerable  on  account 
of  their  age  and  origin.  Even  our  newly-settled  coun 
try  of  but  a  century  or  two  has  already  crowned  home 
steads  still  standing  with  royal  honors.  Mine,  I  con 
jecture,  is  not  far  from  one  hundred  and  fifty  years' 
standing.  It  was  a  first-class  country  house  in  its  day, 
with  its  window-seats  in  parlor  and  chambers,  orna 
mental  summers  and  casements,  its  ample  fireplaces, 
and  lean-to  on  the  northern  side.  Like  most  of  its 
period  it  was  open  to  the  road  with  overshadowing  elms 
still  embowering  the  mansion  ;  had  a  lion-headed  door 
knocker,  and  huge  chimney-tops  surmounting  the  gables. 
Of  learned  ancestry,  moreover  ;  having  been  the  home 
stead  of  a  brother  of  President  Hoar,  of  Harvard  College, 
and  remained  in  possession  of  members  of  that  venerable 


APRIL.  1 

family  clown  to  near  the  beginning  of  the  present  cen 
tury.  The  site  is  hardly  surpassed  by  any  on  the  old 
Boston  road  ;  the  woods  behind  crowning  the  range  of 
hills  running  north  almost  to  the  village,  and  bordering 
east  on  Wayside,  Hawthorne's  last  residence.  It  must 
have  been  chosen  by  an  original  settler,  probably  coming 
with  the  Rev.  Peter  Bulkeley  from  England,  in  1635.* 

The  ancient  elms  before  the  house,  of  a  hundred 
years'  standing  and  more,  are  the  pride  of  the  yard. 
It  were  sacrilege  to  remove  a  limb  or  twig  unless  de 
cayed,  so  luxuriant  and  far-spreading,  overshadowing 
the  roof  and  gables,  yet  admitting  the  light  into  hall 
and  chambers.  Sunny  rooms,  sunny  household. 
"Build  your  house,"  says  a  mystic  author,  "upon  a 
firm  foundation,  and  let  your  aspect  be  towards  the 
east,  where  the  sun  rises,  that  so  you  may  enjoy  its 
fruitfulness  in  your  household  and  orchards." 

Whether  the  first  settler  planted  these  elms,  or 
whether  they  are  survivors  of  the  primitive  forest 
which  was  felled  to  make  way  and  room  for  the  rude 
shelter  of  the  hardy  settlers,  is  not  ascertained.  Their 
roots  penetrate  primitive  soil ;  the  surrounding  grounds 
have  become  productive  by  the  industry  and  skill, 
mellowed  and  meliorated  by  the  humanities  of  their 
descendants.  They  came  honestly  by  their  home 
steads,  paying  their  swarthy  claimants  fair  prices  for 

*  Johnson,  in  his  "  Wonder  Working  Providence  Concerning  New  Eng 
land,"  describes  the  company  of  settlers  on  their  way  from  Cambridge,  under 
the  lead  of  the  Rev.  Peter  Bulkeley,  the  principal  founder  of  Concord. 


*?**          - 


8  CONCOfiD  DATS. 

them ;  the  landscape  is  still  inviting  by  its  prairie  as 
pects,  its  brook-sides  and  meadows  where  the  red  men 
trod. 

It  was  these  broad  meadows  beside  the  "  Grass 
ground  River "  that  tempted  alike  the  white  and  red 
man,  —  the  one  for  pasturage,  the  other  for  fishing,  — 
and  brought  the  little  colony  through  the  wilderness  to 
form  the  settlement  named  ';  Musketaquid,"  after  the 
river  of  that  name  (signifying  grass  ground),  and  later 
taking  that  of  Concord,  not  without  note  in  history. 

"  Beneath  low  hills,  in  the  broad  interval 
Through  which  at  will  our  Indian  rivulet 
Winds  mindful  still  of  sannup  and  of  squaw, 
Whose  pipe  and  arrow  oft  the  plough  unburies  ; 
Here,  in  pine  houses,  built  of  new-fallen  trees, 
Supplanters  of  the  tribe,  the  planters  dwelt." 

The  view  from  the  rustic  seat  overlooking  my  house 
commands  the  amphitheatre  in  which  the  house  stands, 
and  through  which  flows  Mill  brook,  bordered  on  the 
south  and  east  by  the  Lincoln  woods.  It  is  a  quiet 
prospect  and  might  be  taken  for  an  English  landscape  ; 
needs  but  a  tower  or  castle  overtopping  the  trees 
surrounding  it.  The  willows  by  the  rock  bridge 
over  the  brook,  the  winding  lane  once  the  main  track 
of  travel  before  the  turnpike  branching  off  from  the  old 
Boston  road  by  Emerson's  door  was  built,  adds  to  the 
illusion,  while  on  the  east  stands  the  pine-clad  hill, 
Hawthorne's  favorite  haunt,  and  hiding  his  last  resi 
dence  from  sight. 


APRIL. 

On  the  southwest  is  an  ancient  wood,  Thoreau's 
pride,  beyond  which  is  Walden  Pond,  distant  about  a 
mile  from  my  house,  and  best  reached  by  the  lane 
opening  opposite  Hawthorne's.  Fringed  on  all  sides 
by  woods,  the  interval,  once  a  mill  pond,  is  now 
in  meadow  and  garden  land,  the  slopes  planted  in 
vineyards,  market  gardens  and  orchards  lining  the 
road  along  which  stand  the  farmers'  houses  visible 
in  the  opening. 

This  road  has  more  than  a  local  interest.  If  any 
road  may  claim  the  originality  of  being  entitled  to  the 
name  of  American,  it  is  this,  —  since  along  its  dust 
the  British  regulars  retreated  from  their  memorable 
repulse  at  the  Old  North  Bridge,  the  Concord  military 
following  fast  upon  their  heels,  and  from  the  hill-tops 
giving  them  salutes  of  musketry  till  they  disappeared 
beyond  Lexington,  and  gave  a  day  to  history. 

An  agricultural  town  from  the  first,  it  is  yet  such 
in  large  measure ;  though  like  others  in  its  neighbor 
hood  becoming  suburban  and  commercial.  Fields 
once  in  corn  and  grass  are  now  in  vineyards  and 
orchards,  tillage  winding  up  the  slopes  from  the 
low  lands  to  the  hill-tops.  The  venerable  woods 
once  crowning  these  are  fast  falling  victims  to  the  axe. 
The  farmsteads  are  no  longer  the  rural  homes  they 
were  when  every  member  of  the  family  took  part  in 
domestic  affairs  ;  foreign  help  serves  where  daughters 
once  served ;  they  with  their  brothers  having  left  the 
housekeeping  and  farming  for  school,  factories,  trade, 


10  CONCORD  DAYS. 

a  profession,  and  things  are  drifting  towards  an  urbane 
and  municipal  civilization,  the  metropolis  extending 
its  boundaries,  and  absorbing  the  townships  for  many 
miles  round. 

Moreover,  the  primitive  features  of  the  landscape 
are  being  obliterated  by  the  modern  facilities  for  busi 
ness  and  travel,  less  perhaps  than  in  most  places  lying 
so  near  the  metropolis ;  the  social  still  less  than  the 
natural ;  the  descendants  of  the  primitive  fathers 
of  the  settlement  cherishing  a  pride  of  ancestry  not 
unbecoming  in  a  republic,  less  favorable  for  the  perpet 
uation  of  family  distinctions  and  manners  than  in 
countries  under  monarchical  rule. 


OUTLOOK. 

MONDAY,  5. 

ONE'S  outlook  is  a  part  of  his  virtue.  Does  it  matter 
nothing  to  him  what  objects  accost  him  whenever 
he  glances  from  his  windows,  or  steps  out-of-doors  ?  He 
who  is  so  far  weaned  from  the  landscape,  or  indifferent 
to  it,  as  not  to  derive  a  sweet  and  robust  habit  of  char 
acter  therefrom,  seems  out  of  keeping  with  nature  and 
himself.  I  suspect  something  amiss  in  him  wtyo  has  no 
love,  no  enthusiasm  for  his  surroundings,  and  that  his 
friendships,  if  such  he  profess,  are  of  a  cold  and 
isolate  quality  at  best ;  one  even  questions,  at  times, 
whether  the  residents  of  cities,  where  art  has  thrown 


APRIL.  11 

around  them  a  world  of  its  own,  are  compensated  by 
all  this  luxury  of  display,  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  social 
artifices  wont  to  steal  into  their  costly  compliments, — 
for  the  simple  surroundings  of  the  countryman,  which 
prompt  to  manliness  and  true  gentility,  A  country 
dwelling  without  shrubbery,  hills  near  or  in  the  dis 
tance,  a  forest  and  water  view,  if  but  a  rivulet,  seems 
so  far  incomplete  as  if  the  occupants  themselves  were 
raw  and  impoverished.  Wood  and  water  god  both,  man 
loves  to  traverse  the  forests,  wade  the  streams,  and  con 
fess  his  kindred  alliance  with  primeval  things.  Be 
leaps  not  from  the  woods  into  civility  at  a  single  bound, 
neither  comes  from  cities  and  conversations  freed  from 
the  wildness  of  his  dispositions.  Something  of  the  for 
ester  stirs  within  him  when  occasion  provokes,  as  if  men 
were  trees  transformed,  and  delighted  to  claim  their 
affinities  with  their  sylvan  ancestry. 

Man  never  tires  of  Nature's  scene, 
Himself  the  liveliest  evergreen. 


THOREAU. 

My  friend  and  neighbor  united  these  qualities  of  syl 
van  and  human  in  a  more  remarkable  manner  than  any 
whom  it  has  been  my  happiness  to  know.  Lo.Yer  of  the 
wild,  he  lived  a  borderer  on  the  confines  of  civilization, 
jealous  of  the  least  encroachment  upon  his  possessions. 

"  Society  were  all  but  rude 
In  his  umbrageous  solitude." 


12  CONCORD  DAYS. 

I  had  never  thought  of  knowing  a  man  so  thoroughly 
of  the  country,  and  so  purely  a  son  of  nature.  I  think 
he  had  the  profoundest  passion  for  it  of  any  one  of  his 
time  ;  and  had  the  human  sentiment  been  as  tender  and 
pervading,  would  have  given  us  pastorals  of  which 
Virgil  and  Theocritus  might  have  envied  him  the  au 
thorship  had  they  chanced  to  be  his  contemporaries. 
As  it  was,  he  came  nearer  the  antique  spirit  than  any 
of  our  native  poets,  and  touched  the  fields  and  groves 
and  streams  of  his  native  town  with  a  classic  interest 
that  shall  not  fade.  Some  of  his  verses  are  suffused 
with  an  elegiac  tenderness,  as  if  the  woods  and  brooks 
bewailed  the  absence  of  their  Lycidas,  and  murmured 
their  griefs  meanwhile  to  one  another,  —  responsive  like 
idyls.  Living  in  close  companionship  with  nature,  his 
muse  breathed  the  spirit  and  voice  of  poetry.  For 
when  the  heart  is  once  divorced  from  the  senses  and  all 
sympathy  with  common  things,  then  poetry  has  fled  and 
the  love  that  sings. 

The  most  welcome  of  companions  was  this  plain 
countryman.  One  seldom  meets  with  thoughts  like  his, 
coming  so  scented  of  mountain  and  field  breezes  and 
rippling  springs,  so  like  a  luxuriant  clod  from  under 
forest  leaves,  moist  and  mossy  with  earth-spirits.  His 
presence  was  tonic,  like  ice  water  in  dog-days  to  the 
parched  citizen  pent  in  chambers  and  under  brazen 
ceilings.  Welcome  as  the  gurgle  of  brooks  and  dip 
ping  of  pitchers,  —  then  drink  and  be  cool !  He  seemed 
one  with  things,  of  nature's  essence  and  core,  knit  of 


APRIL.  13 

strong  timbers,  —  like  a  wood  and  its  inhabitants. 
There  was  in  him  sod  and  shade,  wilds  and  waters 
manifold,  —  the  mould  and  mist  of  earth  and  sky. 
Self-poised  and  sagacious  as  any  djenizen  of  the  ele 
ments,  he  had  the  key  to  every  animal's  brain,  every, 
plant ;  and  were  an  Indian  to  flower  forth  and  reveal  the 
scents  hidden  in  his  cranium,  it  would  not  be  more  sur 
prising  than  the  speech  of  our  Sylvanus.  He  belonged 
to  the  Homeric  age,  —  was  older  than  pastures  and 
gardens,  as  if  he  were  of  the  race  of  heroes  and  one 
with  the  elements.  He  of  all  men  seemed  to  be  the 
native  New-England  er,  as  much  so  as  the  oak,  the 
granite  ledge  ;  our  best  sample  of  an  indigenous  Amer 
ican,  untouched  by  the  old  country,  unless  he  came 
clown  rather  from  Thor,  the  Northman,  whose  name  he 
bore. 

A  peripatetic  philosopher,  and  out-of-doors  for  the 
best  part  of  his  days  and  nights,  he  had  manifold 
weather  and  seasons  in  him ;  the  manners  of  an  animal 
of  probity  and  virtue  unstained.  Of  all  our  moralists, 
he  seemed  the  wholesomest,  the  busiest,  and  the  best 
republican  citizen  in  the  world  ;  always  at  home  mind 
ing  his  own  affairs.  A  little  over-confident  by  genius, 
and  stiffly  individual,  dropping  society  clean  out  of  his 
theories,  while  standing  friendly  in  his  strict  sense  of 
friendship,  there  was  in  him  an  integrity  and  love  of 
justice  that  made  possible  and  actual  the  virtues 
of  Sparta  and  the  Stoics,  —  all  the  more  welcome 
in  his  time  of  shuffling  and  pusillanimity.  Plutarch 


14  CONCORD  DAYS. 

would  have  made  him  immortal  in  his  pages  had  he 
lived  before  his  day.  Nor  have  we  any  so  modern 
withal,  so  entirely  his  own  and  ours  :  too  purely  so  to  be 
appreciated  at  once.  A  scholar  by  birthright,  and  an 
author,  his  fame  had  not,  at  his  decease,  travelled  far 
from  the  banks  of  the  rivers  he  described  in  his  books  ; 
but  one  hazards  only  the  truth  in  affirming  of  his  prose, 
that  in  substance  and  pith,  it  surpasses  that  of  any 
naturalist  of  his  time  ;  and  he  is  sure  of  large  reading  in 
the  future.  There  are  fairer  fishes  in  his  pages  than 
any  swimming  in  our  streams ;  some  sleep  of  his 
on  the  banks  of  the  Merrimack  by  moonlight  that 
Egypt  never  rivalled  ;  a  morning  of  which  Memnon 
might  have  envied  the  music,  and  a  greyhound  he  once 
had,  meant  for  Adonis ;  frogs,  better  than  any  of 
Aristophanes ;  apples  wilder  than  Adam's.  His 
senses  seemed  double,  giving  him  access  to  secrets  not 
easily  read  by  others ;  in  sagacity  resembling  that  of 
the  beaver,  the  bee,  the  dog,  the  deer ;  an  instinct 
for  seeing  and  judging,  as  by  some  other,  or  seventh 
sense  ;  dealing  with  objects  as  if  they  were  shooting 
forth  from  his  mind  mythologically,  thus  completing 
the  world  all  round  to  his  senses  ;  a  creation  of  his  at 
the  moment.  I  am  sure  he  knew  the  animals  one  by 
one,  as  most  else  knowable  in  his  town ;  the  plants, 
the  geography,  as  Adam  did  in  his  Paradise,  if, 
indeed,  he  were  not  that  ancestor  himself.  His 
works  are  pieces  of  exquisite  sense,  celebrations  of 
Nature's  virginity  exemplified  by  rare  learning,  deli- 


APRIL.  15 

cate  art,  replete  with  observations  as  accurate  as  origi 
nal  ;  contributions  of  the  unique  to  the  natural  history 
of  his  country,  and  without  which  it  were  incomplete. 
Seldom  has  a  head  circumscribed  so  much  of  the  sense 
and  core  of  Cosmos  as  this  footed  intelligence. 

If  one  would  learn  the  wealth  of  wit  there  was  in 
this  plain  man,  the  information,  the  poetry,  the  piety, 
he  should  have  accompanied  him  on  an  afternoon  walk 
to  Walden,  or  elsewhere  about  the  skirts  of  his  village 
residence.  Pagan  as  he  might  outwardly  appear,  yet  he 
was  the  hearty  worshipper  of  whatsoever  is  sound  and 
wholesome  in  nature,  —  a  piece  of  russet  probity  and 
strong  sense,  that  nature  delighted  to  own  and  honor. 
His  talk  was  suggestive,  subtle,  sincere,  under  as  many 
masks  and  mimicries  as  the  shows  he  might  pass ;  as 
significant,  substantial,  —  nature  choosing  to  speak 
through  his  mouth-piece,  —  cynically,  perhaps,  and 
searching  into  the  marrows  of  men  and  times  he 
spoke  of,  to  his  discomfort  mostly  and  avoidance. 

Nature,  poetry,  life,  —  not  politics,  not  strict  science, 
not  society  as  it  is,  —  were  his  preferred  themes.  The 
world  was  holy,  the  things  seen  symbolizing  the  things 
unseen,  and  thus  worthy  of  worship,  calling  men  out-of- 
doors  and  under  the  firmament  for  health  and  whole- 
someness  to  be  insinuated  into  their  souls,  not  as  idola- 
tors,  but  as  idealists.  His  religion  was  of  the  most 
primitive  type,  inclusive  of  all  natural  creatures  and 
things,  even  to  "  the  sparrow  that  falls  to  the  ground," 
though  never  by  shot  of  his,  and  for  whatsoever  was 


16  CONCORD  DATS. 

manly  in  men,  his  worship  was  comparable  to  that  of 
the  priests  and  heroes  of  all  time.  I  should  say  he 
inspired  the  sentiment  of  love,  if,  indeed,  the  sentiment 
did  not  seem  to  partake  of  something  purer,  were 
that  possible,  but  nameless  from  its  excellency^  Cer 
tainly  he  was  better  poised  and  more  nearly  self-reliant 
than  other  men. 

"  The  happy  man  who  lived  content 
With  his  own  town,  his  continent, 
Whose  chiding  streams  its  banks  did  curb 
As  ocean  circumscribes  its  orb, 
Round  which,  when  he  his  walk  did  take, 
Thought  he  performed  far  more  than  Drake ; 
For  other  lands  he  took  less  thought 
Than  this  his  muse  and  mother  brought." 

More  primitive  and  Homeric  than  any  American,  his 
style  of  thinking  was  robust,  racy,  as  if  Nature  herself 
had  built  his  sentences  and  seasoned  the  sense  of  his 
paragraphs  with  her  own  vigor  and  salubrity.  Noth 
ing  can  be  spared  from  them ;  there  is  nothing  super 
fluous  ;  all  is  compact,  concrete,  as  nature  is. 

His  politics  were  of  a  piece  with  his  individualism. 
We  must  admit  that  he  found  little  in  political  or  relig 
ious  establishments  answering  to  his  wants,  that  his 
attitude  was  defiant,  if  not  annihilating,  as  if  he  had 
said  to  himself :  — 

u  The  state  is  man's  pantry  at  most,  and  filled  at  an 
enormous  cost,  —  a  spoliation  of  the  human  common- 
wealth.  Let  it  go.  Heroes  can  live  on  nuts,  and  free 
men  sun  themselves  in  the  clefts  of  rocks,  rather  than 


APItlL.  17 

sell  their  liberty  for  this  pottage  of  slavery.  We,  the 
few  honest  neighbors,  can  help  one  another  ;  and  should 
the  state  ask  any  favors  of  us,  we  can  take  the  matter 
into  consideration  leisurely,  and  at  our  convenience 
give  a  respectful  answer. 

"  But  why  require  a  state  to  protect  one's  rights?  the 
man  is  all.  Let  him  husband  himself ;  needs  he  other 
servant  or  runner  ?  Self-keeping  is  the  best  economy. 
That  is  a  great  age  when  the  state  is  nothing  and  man 
is  all.  He  founds  himself  in  freedom,  and  maintains 
his  uprightness  therein  ;  founds  an  empire  and  maintains 
states.  Just  retire  from  those  concerns,  and  see  how 
soon  they  must  needs  go  to  pieces,  the  sooner  for  the 
virtue  thus  withdrawn  from  them.  All  the  manliness 
of  individuals  is  sunk  in  that  partnership  in  trade.  Not 
only  must  I  come  out  of  institutions,  but  come  out  of 
myself,  if  I  will  be  free  and  independent.  Shall  one  be 
denied  the  privilege  on  coming  of  mature  age  of  choosing 
whether  he  will  be  a  citizen  of  the  country  he  happens  to 
be  born  in.  or  another?  And  what  better  title  to  a  spot 
of  ground  than  being  a  man,  and  having  none?  Is  not 
man  superior  to  state  or  country  ?  I  plead  exemption 
from  all  interference  by  men  or  states  with  my  individ 
ual  prerogatives.  That  is  mine  which  none  can  steal 
from  me,  nor  is  that  yours  which  I  or  any  man  can  take 
away." 

"  I  am  too  high  born  to  be  propertied, 
To  be  a  secondary  at  control, 
Or  useful  serving  man  and  instrument 
To  any  sovereign  state  throughout  the  world." 


18  CONCORD  DAYS. 

A  famous  speech  is  recorded  of  an  old  Norseman 
thoroughly  characteristic  of  this  Teuton.  "  I  believe 
neither  in  idols  nor  demons  ;  I  put  my  sole  trust  in  my 
own  strength  of  body  and  soul."  The  ancient  crest  of 
a  pick-axe,  with  the  motto,  "  Either  I  will  find  a  way  or 
make  one,"  characterizes  the  same  sturdy  independence 
and  practical  materialism  which  distinguishes  the  de 
scendants  of  Thor,  whose  symbol  was  a  hammer. 

He  wrote  in  his  Journal :  — 

"  Perhaps  I  am  descended  from  the  Northman  named 
Thorer,  the  dog- footed.  He  was  the  most  powerful  man 
of  the  North.  To  judge  from  his  name,  Thorer  II and 
belonged  to  the  same  family.  Thorer  is  one  of  the 
most,  if  not  the  most  common  name  in  the  chronicles 
of  the  Northmen.  Snorro  Stuiieson  says,  4  from  Thor's 
name  comes  Thorer,  also  Thorarimnn.'  Again,  '  Earl 
Eognvald  was  King  Harald's  dearest  friend,  and  the  king 
had  the  greatest  regard  for  him.  He  was  married  to 
Hilda,  a  daughter  of  Rolf  Nalfia,  and  their  sons  were 
Rolf  and  Thorer.  Rolf  became  a  great  Viking,  and 
of  so  stout  a  growth  that  no  horse  could  carry  him,  and 
wheresoever  he  went,  he  went  on  foot,  and  therefore 
he  was  called  Gange-Rolf.'  Laiug  says  in  a  note,  what 
Sturleson  also  tells  in  the  text,  '  Gange-Rolf,  Rolf- 
Ganger,  Rolf  the  walker,  was  the  conqueror  of  Nor- 
mandv.  Gange-Rolf's  son  was  William,  father  of 
Richard,  who  was  the  father  of  Richard  Longspear, 
and  grandfather  of  William  the  Bastard,  from  whom 
the  following  English  kings  are  descended.' " 


APRIL.  19 

"  King  Harald  set  Earl  Rognvald's  sou  Thorer  over 
More,  and  gave  him  his  daughter  Alof  in  marriage. 
Thorer,  called  the  Silent,  got  the  same  territory  his 
father  Rognvald  had  possessed.  His  brother  Einar 
going  into  battle  to  take  vengeance  on  his  father's 
murderers,  sang  a  kind  of  reproach  against  his  brothers, 
Rollang  and  Rolf,  for  their  slowness,  and  concludes  : — 

'  And  silent  Thorer  sits  and  dreams 
At  home,  beside  the  mead  bowl's  streams.' 

"  Of  himself  it  is  related,  that '  he  cut  a  spread  eagle 
on  the  back  of  his  enemy  Halfdan.' 

u  So  it  seems  that  from  one  branch  of  the  family  were 
descended  the  kings  of  England,  and  from  the  other, 
myself." 

In  his  journal  I  find  these  lines  :  — 

"  Light-headed,  thoughtless,  shall  I  take  my  way 
When  I  to  Thee  this  being  have  resigned  ; 
Well  knowing  when  upon  a  future  day, 
With  usurer's  trust,  more  than  myself  to  find." 

NOTE.  u  Thoreau  was  born  in  Concord  on  the  12th  of  July,  1S17.  The  old- 
fashioned  bouse,  its  roof  nearly  reaching  to  the  ground  in  the  rear,  remains 
as  it  was  \vhen  he  first  saw  the  light  in  the  easternmost  of  its  upper  cham 
bers.  It  was  the  residence  of  his  grandmother,  and  a  perfect  piece  of  our 
New-England  style  of  building,  with  its  gray,  unpainted  boards,  its  grassy, 
unfenced  door-yard.  The  house  is  somewhat  isolate  and  remote  from 
thoroughfares.  The  Virginia  road  is  an  old-fashioned,  winding,  at  length 
deserted  pathway,  the  more  smiling  for  its  forked  orchards,  tumbling  walks, 
and  mossy  banks.  About  the  house  are  pleasant,  sunny  meadows,  deep 
with  their  beds  of  peat,  so  cheering  with  its  homely,  heath-like  fragrance, 
and  in  its  front  runs  a  constant  stream  through  the  centre  of  that  great  tract 
sometimes  called  '  Bedford  Levels,'  — this  brook  a  source  of  the  Shawsheen 


20  CONOOED  DATS. 

River.    It  was  lovely  that  he  should  draw  his  first  hreath  in  a  pure  country 
air,  out  of  crowded  towns,  amid  the  pleasant  russet  fields. 

"  His  parents  were  active,  vivacious  people ;  his  grandfather,  by  his  father's 
side,  coming  from  the  Isle  of  Jersey,  a  Frenchman  and  Catholic,  who  mar 
ried  a  Scotch  woman  named  Jennie  Burns.  On  his  mother's  side  the  descent 
is  from  the  well-known  Jones  family  of  Weston,  Mass.,  and  the  Rev.  Charles 
Dunbar,  a  graduate  of  Harvard  College,  who  preached  in  Salem,  and  at 
length  settled  in  Keene,  New  Hampshire.  As  variable  an  ancestry  as  can 
well  be  afforded,  with  marked  family  characters  on  both  sides.  About  a. 
year  and  a  half  from  Henry's  birth,  the  family  removed  to  the  town  of 
Chelmsford,  thence  to  Boston,  coming  back,  however,  to  Concord  when  he 
was  of  a  very  tender  age;  his- earliest  memory  of  most  of  the  town  was  a 
ride  to  "Walden  Pond  with  his  grandmother,  when  he  thought  that  he  should 
be  glad  to  live  there.  He  retained  a  peculiar  pronunciation  of  the  letter  R, 
with  a  decided  French  accent.  He  says,  '  September  is  the  fifth  month  with 
a  burr  in  it.'  His  great-grandmother's  name  was  Marie  le  Galais,  and  his 
grandfather,  John  Thoreau,  was  baptized  April  28, 1754,  and  partook  of  the 
Catholic  sacrament  in  the  parish  of  St.  Helier,  Isle  of  Jersey,  in  May,  1773. 
Thus  near  to  old  France  and  the  church  was  our  Yankee  boy. 

"  A  moment  may  be  spent  on  a  few  traits  of  Thoreau,  of  a  personal  kind. 
In  height  he  was  about  the  average.  In  his  build,  spare,  with  limbs  that 
were  rather  longer  than  usual,  or  of  which  he  made  a  longer  use,  His  face 
once  seen  could  not  be  forgotten;  the  features  quite  marked,  the  nose  aqui 
line,  or  very  Roman,  like  one  of  the  portraits  of  Caesar  (more  like  a  beak, 
as  was  said),  large  overhanging  brows  above  the  deepest-set  blue  eyes  that 
could  be  seen,  —  blue  in  certain  lights,  and  in  others  gray,  —  eyes  expressive 
of  all  shades  of  feeling,  but  never  weak  or  near-sighted;  the  forehead  not 
unusually  broad  or  high,  full  of  concentrated  energy  and  purpose;  the 
mouth,  with  prominent  lips,  pursed  up  with  meaning  and  thought  when  shut, 
and  giving  out  when  open  a  stream  of  the  most  varied  and  unusual  and 
instructive  sayings.  His  hair  was  a  dark  brown,  exceedingly  abundant, 
fine,  and  soft,  and  for  several  years  he  wore  a  comely  beard.  His  whole 
figure  had  an  active  earnestness  as  if  he  had  not  a  moment  to  waste.  The 
clenched  hand  betokened  purpose.  In  walking  he  made  a  short  cut  if  he 
could,  and  when  sitting  in  the  shade,  or  by  the  wall-side,  seemed  merely  the 
clearer  to  look  forward  into  the  next  piece  of  activity.  Even  in  the  boat  he 
had  a  wary,  transitory  air,  his  eyes  on  the  lookout;  perhaps  there  might 
be  ducks,  or  the  Blondin  turtle,  or  an  otter,  or  sparrow.  He  was  a  plain 
man  in  his  features  and  dress,  —  one  who  could  not  be  mistaken,  and  this 
kind  of  plainness  is  not  out  of  keeping  with  beauty.  He  sometimes  went  as 
far  as  homeliness,  which  again,  even  if  there  be  a  prejudice  against  it,  shines 
out  at  times  beyond  a  vulgar  beauty." 

W.  ELLERY  CHANMNO. 


APRIL.  21 


SELF-PRIVACY. 

THURSDAY,  8. 

"  A  sweet  self-privacy  in  a  right  soul 
Outruns  the  earth,  and  lines  the  utmost  pole." 

FOR  a  diary,  slight  arches  will  suffice  to  convey  the 
day's  freight  across  ;  the  lighter  these,  the  speedier 
and  more  graceful  the  transit.  Any  current  event, 
passing  thought,  rumor,  were  transportable,  if  simply 
dispatched.  And  the  more  significant,  as  the  more  fa 
miliar  and  private.  Life  were  the  less  sweet  and  com 
panionable  if  cumbered  with  affairs,  overloaded  with 
thought,  dizzied  with  anxieties.  Better  the  quiet  tem 
per  that  takes  the  days  as  they  pass,  and  as  if  an  eter 
nity  were  vouchsafed  for  completing  one's  task,  the  time 
too  short  to  waste  in  murmurs  or  postponements. 

"  Cares,  like  eclipses,  darken  our  endeavors ; 
Our  duties  are  our  best  gods." 

A  quiet  life  furnishes  little  of  incident ;  dealing  with 
thoughts  and  things  in  a  meditative  manner,  it  has  the 
less  for  those  who  have  a  more  stirring  stake  in  cur 
rent  affairs.  Yet  one  fancies  that  what  interests  him 
self  may  interest  others  of  like  mind,  if  not  of  like 
pursuits ;  and  more  especially  when,  as  in  a  diary,  he 
writes  only  of  what  has  some  real  or  imagined  relation 
to  what  concerns  him.  His  record  may  be  careless, 


22  CONCORD  DATS. 

inconsequent,  like  the  clays  it  chronicles,  with  but  the 
slender  thread  of  sleep  connecting  its  leaves ;  or  per 
haps  the  newspaper,  once  an  accident,  and  coming  ir 
regularly,  links  his  evening  with  morning,  morning  with 
evening ;  newspaper  before  breakfast,  before  business, 
before  sleep ;  daily  bread.  One  almost  defines  his 
culture,  his  social  standing,  by  the  journals  he  takes. 
Observe  the  difference  between  persons  and  neighbor 
hoods  familiar  with  current  newspapers  and  those  who 
are  not.  Very  different  from  the  times  when  a  country 
boy  must  ride  his  miles  after  his  Saturday's  work  to  get 
some  glimmering  of  what  was  passing  in  the  great  world 
around  him ;  before  libraries  and  lectures  were  estab 
lished,  steam  and  lightning  were  carriers  and  couriers 
for  all  mankind.  No  life  is  insular  now.  Every 
thought  resounds  throughout  the  globe.  Electricity 
competes  with  thought  in  the  race.  The  telegraph, 
locomotive,  the  press,  render  cabinets  and  colleges 
almost  superfluous.  Travel  makes  all  men  countrymen, 
makes  people  noblemen  and  kings,  every  man  tasting 
of  liberty  and  dominion.  And  who  but  the  kings  them 
selves  can  unking  themselves  ? 

Still,  like  most  things,  our  periodical  literature  is  far 
from  being  a  pure  benefit,  and  one  may  quote  Plato's 
sa}7ing  as  applicable  to  the  superficial  culture  which  this 
of  itself  fosters  :  "  Total  ignorance  were  in  no  wise  a 
thing  so  vile  and  wicked,  nor  the  greatest  of  evils ;  but 
multifarious  knowledge  and  learning  acquired  under  bad 
management,  causes  much  more  harm." 


APRIL.  23 

Rather  what  is  thought  and  spoken  in  drawing-rooms, 
clubs,  in  private  assemblies,  best  intimates  the  spirit  and 
tendencies  of  a  community.  Things  are  known  but  at 
second-hand  as  represented  in  public  prints,  or  spoken 
on  platforms.  Admitted  to  private  houses,  one  may 
report  accurately  the  census  of  civility,  and  cast  the 
horoscope  of  the  coming  time.  Nor  do  I  sympathize 
with  some  of  nry  friends  in  their  dislike  of  reporters. 
One  defends  himself  from  intrusion,  as  a  general  rule ; 
but  where  the  public  have  a  generous  interest  in  one's 
thoughts,  his  occupations  and  manners,  the  discour 
tesy  is  rather  in  withholding  these  from  any  false 
modesty.  Besides,  the  version  is  more  likely  to  be 
nearer  the  truth  than  if  left  to  chance  curiosity, 
which  piques  itself  all  the  more  on  getting  what 
was  thus  withheld,  with  any  additions  the  mood 
favors. 

SUNDAY  LECTURES. 

SUNDAY,  11. 

THE  course  of  Sunday  lectures  at  Horticultural  Hall 
opened  in  January  closes  to-day.  They  have 
proved  a  brilliant  success.  Each  speaker  has  attracted, 
besides  the  body  of  steady  attendants,  his  personal 
friends,  thus  varying  the  audiences  from  Sunday  to  Sun 
day,  and  giving  an  example  of  varied  teaching  unprece 
dented  in  our  time.  The  reports  of  these  discourses, 
imperfect  as  they  are,  deserve  preservation.  They  have 


24  CONCORD  DAYS. 

relation  to  the  drift  of  thinking  in  our  New-England 
community  especially,  and  are  of  historical  importance. 
If  not  accepting  all  that  has  been  spoken  on  this  plat 
form  by  the  successive  speakers,  one  may  take  a  hearty 
interest  in  these  adventures  into  the  world  of  thought 
and  duty  ;  nor  can  any  who  have  attended  steadily  from 
Sunday  to  Sunday  question  their  serving  a  religious 
need  of  the  time.  The  views  of  persons,  distinguished 
as  are  most  of  the  speakers,  are  not  insignificant,  since 
these  are  not  among  the  least  of  the  influences  secretly, 
if  not  openly,  moulding  the  manners  and  institutions  of 
a  community  in  which  the  thoughts  and  aims  of  the 
humblest  individuals  have  weight,  and  the  young  are 
so  eager  to  learn  of  their  thoughtful  elders. 

When  I  recollect  the  ardor  with  which  I  sought  the 
acquaintance  of  those  whom  I  imagined  had  ideas  to 
communicate,  and  my  delight  in  such  when  found,  I 
am  led  to  think  how  very  desirable  were  an  institution 
to  which  young  students  might  resort  during  such  por 
tion  of  the  year  as  might  be  most  convenient,  to  enjoy 
the  fellowship  of  some  of  our  most  cultivated  persons, 
—  scholarships  being  provided  for  such  as  had  not  the 
means  of  defraying  the  necessary  expenses,  —  thus 
enabling  bright  young  men  and  women,  whether  college 
graduates  or  not,  to  complete  what  colleges  do  not 
give.  Not  every  student  comes  into  that  intellectual 
sympathy  with  his  professor,  which  renders  instruction 
most  enjoyable,  yet  without  which  the  highest  ends  of 
culture  are  not  attained.  With  a  faculty  composed  of 


APRIL.  25 

• 

persons  whose  names  a  moment's  thought  will  suggest, 
opportunities  would  be  given  for  that  sympathetic 
communion  of  mind  with  mind  in  which  all  living 
instruction  and  influence  consist. 


EMERSON. 

TUESDAY,  13. 

"TjlMERSON  has  lately  completed  a  course  of  read- 
I  J  ings  on  English  Poetry  to  an  appreciative  com 
pany  in  Boston.  It  is  a  variation  of  his  method  of 
communicating  with  his  companies,  and  not  less  be 
coming  than  even  his  usual  form  of  lecture.  It  mat 
ters  not  in  his  case  ;  for  such  is  the  charm  of  his  man 
ner,  that  wherever  he  appears,  the  cultured  class  will  de 
light  in  his  utterances  ;  and  one  may  quote  Socrates  in 
Phaedrus,  where  Plato  makes  himsaj^,  "  For  as  men  lead 
hungry  creatures  by  holding  out  a  green  bough,  or  an 
apple,  so  you,  Phoadrus,  it  would  seem,  might  lead  me 
about  all  Attica,  and,  indeed,  wherever  else  you  please, 
by  extending  to  me  discourses  out  of  jour  books."  Not 
less  aptly  Goethe  describes  him,  in  his  letters  to  Schil 
ler,  where  he  calls  the  rhapsodist,  "A  wise  man,  who,  in 
calm  thoughtfulness,  shows  what  has  happened ;  his 
discourse  aiming  less  to  excite  than  to  calm  his  auditors, 
in  order  that  they  shall  listen  to  him  with  contentment 
and  long.  He  apportions  the  interest  equally,  because 

it  is  not  in  his  power  to  balance  a  too  lively  impression. 

2 


26  CONCORD  DAYS. 

He  grasps  backwards  and  forwards  at  pleasure.  He  is 
followed,  because  he  has  only  to  do  with  the  imagination, 
which  of  itself  produces  images,  and  which,  up  to  a 
certain  degree,  is  indifferent  what  kind  he  calls  up.  lie 
does  not  appear  to  his  auditors,  but  recites,  as  it  were, 
behind  a  curtain ;  so  there  is  a  total  abstraction  from 
himself,  and  it  seems  to  them  as  though  they  heard  only 
the  voice  of  the  Muses." 

See  our  Ion  standing  there,  his  audience,  his  manu 
script  before  him,  himself  also  an  auditor,  as  he  reads,  of 
the  Genius  sitting  behind  him,  and  to  whom  he  defers, 
eagerly  catching  the  words,  —  the  words,  —  as  if  the 
accents  were  first  reaching  his  ears  too,  and  entrancing 
alike  oracle  and  auditor.  We  admire  the  stately  sense, 
the  splendor  of  diction,  and  are  charmed  as  we  listen. 
Even  his  hesitancy  between  the  delivery  of  his  periods, 
his  perilous  passages  from  paragraph  to  paragraph  of 
manuscript,  we  have  almost  learned  to  like,  as  if  he 
were  but  sorting  his  keys  meanwhile  for  opening  his 
cabinets ;  the  spring  of  locks  following,  himself  seem 
ing  as  eager  as  any  of  us  to  get  sight  of  his  specimens 
as  they  come  forth  from  their  proper  drawers,  and  we 
wait  willingly  till  his  gem  is  out  glittering  ;  admire  the 
setting,  too,  scarcely  less  than  the  jewel  itself.  The 
magic  minstrel  and  speaker,  whose  rhetoric,  voiced  as 
by  organ-stops,  delivers  the  sentiment  from  his  breast 
in  cadences  peculiar  to  himself;  now  hurling  it  forth  on 
the  ear,  echoing  ;  then,  as  his  mood  and  matter  invite, 
dying  awajr,  like 


APRIL.  27 

"  Music  of  mild  lutes, 

Or  silver-coated  flutes, 
Or  the  concealing  winds  that  can  convey 
Never  their  tone  to  the  rude  ear  of  day." 

lie  works  his  miracles  with  it,  as  Hermes  did,  his 
voice  conducting  the  sense  alike  to  eye  and  ear  by  its 
lyrical  movement  and  refraining  melody.  So  his  com 
positions  affect  us,  not  as  logic  linked  in  syllogisms, 
but  as  voluntaries  rather,  as  preludes,  in  which  one  is 
not  tied  to  any  design  of  air,  but  may  vary  his  key  or 
note  at  pleasure,  as  if  improvised  without  any  particu 
lar  scope  of  argument ;  each  period,  paragraph,  being 
a  perfect  note  in  itself,  however  it  may  chance  chime 
with  its  accompaniments  in  the  piece,  as  a  waltz  of 
wandering  stars,  a  dance  of  Hesperus  with  Orion.  His 
rhetoric  dazzles  by  its  circuits,  contrasts,  antitheses ; 
imagination,  as  in  all  sprightly  minds,  being  his  wand 
of  Power.  He  comes  along  his  own  paths,  too,  and 
in  his  own  fashion.  What  though  he  build  his 
piers  downwards  from  the  firmament  to  the  tumbling 
tides,  and  so  throw  his  radiant  span  across  the  fissures 
of  his  argument,  and  himself  pass  over  the  frolic 
arches,  Ariel-wise,  —  is  the  skill  less  admirable,  the 
masonry  the  less  secure  for  its  singularity?  So  his 
books  are  best  read  as  irregular  writings,  in  which  the 
sentiment  is,  by  his  enthusiasm,  transfused  throughout 
the  piece,  telling  on  the  mind  in  cadences  of  a  current 
undersong,  giving  the  impression  of  a  connected  whole, 
—  which  it  seldom  is,  —  such  is  the  rhapsodist's  cun 
ning  in  its  structure  and  delivery. 


28  CONCOED  DAYS. 


The  highest  compliment  we  can  pay  the  scholar  is 
that  of  having  edified  and  instructed  us,  we  know  not 
how,  unless  by  the  pleasure  his  words  have  given  us. 
Conceive  how  much  the  lyceum  owes  to  his  presence 
and  teachings  ;  how  great  the  debt  of  many  to  him  for 
their  hour's  entertainment.  His,  if  any  one's,  let  the 
institution  pass  into  history,  since  his  art,  more  than 
another's,  has  clothed  it  with  beauty,  and  made  it  the 
place  of  popular  resort,  our  purest  organ  of  intellectual 
entertainment  for  New  England  and  the  Western  cities. 
And  besides  this,  its  immediate  value  to  his  auditors 
everywhere,  it  has  been  serviceable  in  ways  they  least 
suspect ;  most  of  his  works,  having  had  their  first  read 
ings  on  its  platform,  were  here  fashioned  and  polished, 
in  good  part,  like  Plutarch's  morals,  to  become  the  more 
acceptable  to  readers  of  his  published  books.  Does 
it  matter  what  topic  he  touches?  He  adorns  all  with 
a  severe  sententious  beauty,  a  freshness  and  sanction 
next  to  that  of  godliness,  if  not  that  in  spirit  and  effect. 

"  The  princely  mind,  that  can 
Teach  man  to  keep  a  God  in  man ; 
And  when  wise  poets  would  search  out  to  see 
Good  men,  behold  them  all  in  thee." 

'T  is  over  thirty  years  since  his  first  book  was  printed. 
Then  followed  volumes  of  essays,  poems,  orations,  ad 
dresses  ;  and  during  all  the  intervening  period,  down 
to  the  present,  he  has  read  briefs  of  his  lectures  through 


APItlL. 

a  wide  range,  from  Canada  to  the  Capitol ;  in 
the  Free  States;  in  the  large  cities,  East  and  West, 
before  large  audiences ;  in  the  smallest  towns,  and  to 
the  humblest  companies.  Such  has  been  his  appeal  to 
the  mind  of  his  countrymen,  such  his  acceptance  by 
them.  He  has  read  lectures  in  the  principal  cities  of 
England  also.  A  poet,  speaking  to  individuals  as  few 
others  can  speak,  and  to  persons  in  their  privileged 
moments,  he  is  heard  as  none  others  are.  The  more 
personal  he  is,  the  more  prevailing,  if  not  the  more 
popular^  Tis  everyt.hiTicr  t.n  I™.VP  n  trnr  V>p1iovp.r  in  the 
world,  dealingjvijJuneB-aHd  matter 3  as  if  they  wore  divine 
in  idea  "and  realm  fact ;  meeting;  persons  and  events  at  a 
glance  directly,  not  at  a  millionth  remove,  and  so  pass 
ing  fair  and  fresh  into  life  and  literature. 

Consider  how  largely  our  letters  have  been  enriched 
by  his  contributions.  Consider,  too,  the  change  his 
views  have  wrought  in  our  methods  of  thinking ;  how 
he  has  won  over  the  bigot,  the  unbeliever,  at  least  to 
tolerance  and  moderation,  if  not  acknowledgment,  by 
his  circumspection  and  candor  of  statement. 

"  His  shining  armor, 
A  perfect  charmer ; 
Even  the  hornets  of  divinity 
Allow  him  a  brief  space, 
And  his  thought  has  a  place 
Upon  the  well-bound  library's  chaste  shelves, 
Where  man  of  various  wisdom  rarely  delves." 


CONCORD  DAYS. 

Poet  and  moralist,  he  has  beauty  and  truth  for  all 
men's  edification  and  delight.  His  works  are  studies. 
And  any  youth  of  free  senses  and  fresh  affections  shall 
be  spared  years  of  tedious  toil,  in  which  wisdom  and 
fair  learning  are,  for  the  most  part,  held  at  arm's- 
length,  planets'  width,  from  his  grasp,  by  graduating 
from  this  college.  His  books  are  surcharged  with 

>  vigorous  thoughts,  a  sprightly  wit.  They  abound  in 
strong  sense,  happy  humor,  keen  criticisms,  subtile 
insights,  noble  morals,  clothed  in  a  chaste  and  manly 

.        diction,  fresh  with  the  breath  of  health  and  progress. 

\  Jtf^  We  characterize  and  class  him  with  the  moralists  who  <j 
surprise  us  with  an  accidental  wisdom,  strokes  of  wit, 
icities  of  phrase,  —  as  Plutarch,  Seneca,  Epictetus, 
Marcus  Aurelius,  Saadi,  Montaigne,  Bacon,  Selden,  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,  Cowley,  Coleridge,  Goethe,  —  with 
whose  delightful  essays,  notwithstanding  all  the  pleas 
ure  they  give  us,  we  still  plead  our  disappointment  at 
not  having  been  admitted  to  the  closer  intimacy  which 
these  loyal  leaves  had  with  their  owners'  mind  before 
torn  from  his  note-books,  jealous,  even,  at  not  having 
been  taken  into  his  confidence  in  the  editing  itself. 

We  read,  never  as  if  he  were  the  dogmatist,  but  a 
fair-speaking  mind,  frankly  declaring  his  convictions, 
and  committing  these  to  our  consideration,  hoping  we 
may  have  thought  like  things  ourselves  ;  oftenest,  in 
deed,  taking  this  for  granted  as  he  wrote.  There  is 
nothing  of  the  spirit  of  proselyting,  but  the  delightful 
deference  ever  to  our  free  sense  and  right  of  opinion. 


APRIL.  31 

He  might  take  for  his  motto  the  sentiment  of  Henry 
More,  where,  speaking  of  himself,  he  says  :  "  Exquisite 
disquisition  begets  diffidence  ;  diffidence  in  knowledge, 
humility ;  humility,  good  manners  and  meek  conversa 
tion.  For  my  part,  I  desire  no  man  to  take  anything  I 
write  or  speak  upon  trust  without  canvassing,  and 
would  be  thought  rather  to  propound  than  to  assert  what 
I  have  here  or  elsewhere  written  or  spoken.  But  con- 
tinualty  to  have  expressed  my  diffidence  in  the  very 
tractates  and  colloquies  themselves,  had  been  languid 
and  ridiculous." 

Then  he  has  chosen  proper  times  and  manners  for 
saying  his  good  things ;  has  spoken  to  almost  every 
great  interest  as  it  rose.  Nor  has  he  let  the  good 
opportunities  pass  unheeded,  or  failed  to  make  them  for 
himself.  He  has  taken  discretion  along  as  his  constant 
attendant  and  ally ;  has  shown  how  the  gentlest  temper 
ever  deals  the  surest  blows.  His  method  is  that  of  the 
sun  against  his  rival  for  the  cloak,  and  so  is  free  from 
any  madness  of  those,  who,  forgetting  the  strength  of 
the  solar  ray,  go  blustering  against  men's  prejudices,  as 
if  the  wearers  would  run  at  once  against  these  winds  of 
opposition  into  their  arms  for  shelter.  What  higher 
praise  can  we  bestow  on  any  one  than  to  say  of  him, 
that  he  harbors  another's  prejudices  with  a  hospitality 
so  cordial  as  to  give  him  for  the  time  the  sympathy  next 
best  to,  if,  indeed,  it  be  not  edification  in,  charity  itself? 
For  what  disturbs  more,  and  distracts  mankind,  than 
the  uncivil  manners  that  cleave  man  from  man  ?  Yet, 


32  CONCOED  DAYS. 

for  whose  amendment  letters,  love,  Christianity,  were 
all  given ! 

There  is  a  virtuous  curiosity  felt  by  readers  of  re 
markable  books  to  learn  something  more  of  their  au 
thor's  literary  tastes,  habits,  and  dispositions,  than 
these  ordinarily  furnish.  Yet  to  gratify  this  is  a  task 
as  difficult  as  delicate,  requiring  a  diffidency  akin  to 
that  with  which  one  would  accost  the  author  himself, 
and  without  which  graceful  armor  it  were  impertinent 
for  a  friend  even  to  undertake  it.  We  may  venture  but 
a  stroke  or  two  here. 

All  men  love  the  country  who  love  mankind  with  a 
wholesome  love,  and  have  poetry  and  company  in  them. 
Our  essayist  makes  good  this  preference.  If  city  bred, 
he  has  been  for  the  best  part  of  his  life  a  villager  and 
countryman.  Only  a  traveller  at  times  professionally, 
he  prefers  home-keeping  ;  is  a  student  of  the  landscape, 
of  mankind,  of  rugged  strength  wherever  found ; 
liking  plain  persons,  plain  ways,  plain  clothes  ;  prefers 
earnest  people ;  shuns  egotists,  publicity ;  likes  soli 
tude,  and  knows  its  uses.  Courting  society  as  a 
spectacle  not  less  than  a  pleasure,  he  carries  off  the 
spoils.  Delighting  in  the  broadest  views  of  men  and 
things,  he  seeks  all  accessible  displays  of  both  for 
draping  his  thoughts  and  works.  And  how  is  his  page 
produced?  Is  it  imaginable  that  he  conceives  his  piece 
as  a  whole,  and  then  sits  down  to  execute  his  task  at  a 
heat  ?  Is  not  this  imaginable  rather,  and  the  key  to  the 


APRIL.  33 

construction  of  his  works  ?  Living  for  composition  as 
few  authors  can,  and  holding  company,  studies,  sleep, 
exercise,  affairs,  subservient  to  thought,  his  products 
are  gathered  as  they  ripen,  stored  in  his  commonplaces  ; 
their  contents  transcribed  at  intervals,  and  classified. 
It  is  the  order  of  ideas,  of  imagination  observed  in  the 
arrangement,  not  of  logical  sequence.  You  may  begin 
at  the  last  paragraph  and  read  backwards.  'T  is  Iris- 
built.  Each  period  is  self-poised;  there  may  be  a 
chasm  of  years  between  the  opening  passage  and  the 
last  written,  and  there  is  endless  time  in  the  composi 
tion.  Jewels  all !  Separate  stars.  You  may  hajre 
them  in  a  galaxy,  if  you  like,  or  view  them^scparate 
and  apart.  But  every  one  finds  that,  if  he  take  an 
essay,  or  verses,  however  the  writer  may  have  pleased 
himself  with  the  cunning  workmanship,  'tis  cloud- 
fashioned,  and  a  blind  pathway  for  any  one  else. 
Cross  as  you  can,  or  not  cross,  it  matters  not,  you  may 
climb  or  leap,  move  in  circles,  turn  somersaults ; 

"In  sympathetic  sorrow  sweep  the  ground," 

like  his  swallow  in  Hermione.  Dissolving  views,  pros 
pects,  vistas  opening  wide  and  far,  yet  earth,  sky,  — 
realities  all,  not  illusions.  Here  is  substance,  sod,  sun  ; 
much  fair  weather  in  the  seer  as  in  his  leaves.  The 
whole  quaternion  of  the  seasons,  the  sidereal  year,  has 
been  poured  into  these  periods.  Afternoon  walks  fur 
nished  their  perspectives,  rounded  and  melodized  them. 
These  good  things  have  been  talked  and  slept  over, 


34  CONCORD  DATS. 

meditated  standing  and  sitting,  read  and  polished  in  the 
utterance,  submitted  to  all  various  tests,  and,  so  ac 
cepted,  they  pass  into  print.  Light  fancies,  dreams, 
moods,  refrains,  were  set  on  foot,  and  sent  jaunting 
about  the  fields,  along  wood-paths,  by  Walclen  shores, 
by  hill  and  brook-sides,  to  come  home  and  claim  their 
rank  and  honors  too  in  his  pages.  Composed  of  sur 
rounding  matters,  populous  with  thoughts,  brisk  with 
images,  these  books  are  wholesome,  homelike,  and  could 
have  been  written  only  in  New  England,  and  by  our 
poet. 

"  Because  I  was  content  with  these  poor  fields, 
Low,  open  meads,  slender  and  sluggish  streams, 
And  found  a  home  in  haunts  which  others  scorned, 
The  partial  wood-gods  overpaid  my  love, 
And  granted  me  the  freedom  of  their  state, 
And  in  their  secret  senate  have  prevailed 
With  the  dear,  dangerous  lords  that  rule  our  life, 
Made  moon  and  planets  parties  to  their  bond, 
And  through  my  rock-like,  solitary  wont 
Shot  million  rays  of  thought  and  tenderness. 
For  me,  in  showers,  in  sweeping  showers,  the  spring 
Visits  the  valley ;  —  break  away  the  clouds,  — 
I  bathe  in  the  morn's  soft  and  silvered  air, 
And  loiter  willing  by  yon  loitering  stream. 
Sparrows  far  off,  and  nearer,  April's  bird, 
Blue-coated,  flying  before  from  tree  to  tree, 
Courageous,  sing  a  delicate  overture 
To  lead  the  tardy  concert  of  the  year. 
Onward  and  nearer  rides  the  sun  of  May; 
And  wide  around,  the  marriage  of  the  plants 


APRIL.  35 

Is  sweetly  solemnized.     Then  flows  amain 
The  surge  of  summer's  beauty ;  dell  and  crag, 
Hollow  and  lake,  hill-side,  and  pine  arcade, 
Are  touched  with  Genius.    Yonder  ragged  cliff 
Has  thousand  faces  in  a  thousand  hours. 

The  gentle  deities 

Showed  me  the  lore  of  colors  and  of  sounds, 
The  innumerable  tenements  of  beauty, 
The  miracle  of  generative  force, 
Far-reaching  concords  of  astronomy 
Felt  in  the  plants  and  in  the  punctual  birds ; 
Better,  the  linked  purpose  of  the  whole, 
And,  chiefest  prize,  found  I  true  liberty 
In  the  glad  home  plain-dealing  nature  gave. 
The  polite  found  me  impolite ;  the  great 
Would  mortify  me,  but  in  vain ;  for  still 
I  am  a  willow  of  the  wilderness, 
Loving  the  wind  that  bent  me.    All  my  hurts 
My  garden  spade  can  heal.     A  woodland  walk, 
A  quest  of  river-grapes,  a  mocking  thrush, 
A  wild-rose,  or  rock-loving  columbine, 
Salve  my  worst  wounds. 

For  thus  the  wood- gods  murmured  in  my  ear : 
4  Dost  love  our  manners  ?    Canst  thou  silent  lie  ? 
Canst  thou,  thy  pride  forgot,  like  nature  pass 
Into  the  winter  night's  extinguished  mood? 
Canst  thou  shine  now,  then  darkle, 
And  being  latent  feel  thyself  no  less  ? 
As,  when  the  all- worshipped  moon  attracts  the  eye, 
The  river,  hill,  stems,  foliage,  are  obscure, 
Yet  envies  none,  none  are  unenviable.' " 

I  know  of  but  one  subtraction  from  the  pleasure  the 


36  CONCORD  DAYS. 

reading  of  his  books  —  shall  I  say  his  conversation  ?  — 
gives  me,  —  his  pains  to  be  impersonal  or  discrete,  as 
if  he  feared  any  the  least  intrusion  of  himself  were  an 
offence  offered  to  self-respect,  the  courtesy  due  to  inter 
course  and  authorship ;  thus  depriving  his  page,  his 
company,  of  attractions  the  great  masters  of  both  knew 
how  to  insinuate  into  their  text  and  talk  without  over 
stepping  the  bounds  of  social  or  literary  decorum. 
What  is  more  delightful  than  personal  magnetism? 
'T  is  the  charm  of  good  fellowship  as  of  good  writing. 
To  get  and  to  give  the  largest  measure  of  satisfaction, 
to  fill  ourselves  with  the  nectar  of  select  experiences, 
not  without  some  intertinctures  of  egotism  so  charming 
in  a  companion,  is  what  we  seek  in  books  of  the  class 
of  his,  as  in  their  authors.  We  associate  diffidence 
properly  with  learning,  frankness  with  fellowship,  and 
owe  a  certain  blushing  reverence  to  both.  For  though 
our  companion  be  a  bashful  man,  —  and  he  is  the  worse 
if  wanting  this  grace,  —  we  yet  wish  him  to  be  an 
enthusiast  behind  all  reserves,  and  capable  of  abandon 
ment  sometimes  in  his  books.  I  know  how  rare  this 
genial  humor  is,  this  frankness  of  the  blood,  and  how 
surpassing  are  the  gifts  of  good  spirits,  especially  here 
in  cold  New  England,  where,  for  the  most  part, 

"  Our  virtues  grow 
Beneath  our  humors,  and  at  seasons  show.'* 

And  yet,  under  our  east  winds  of  reserve,  there  hides 
an  obscure  courtesy  in  the  best  natures,  which  neither 


APEIL.  37 

temperament  nor  breeding  can  spoil.  Sometimes  man 
ners  the  most  distant  are  friendly  foils  for  holding 
eager  dispositions  subject  to  the  measures  of  right  be 
havior.  'T  is  not  every  New-Englander  that  dares  ven 
ture  upon  the  frankness,  the  plain  speaking,  commended 
by  the  Greek  poet. 

"  Caress  me  not  with  words,  while  far  away 
Thy  heart  is  absent,-  and  thy  feelings  stray ; 
But  if  thou  love  me  with  a  faithful  breast, 
Be  that  pure  love  with  zeal  sincere  exprest; 
And  if  thou  hate,  the  bold  aversion  show 
With  open  face  avowed,  and  known  my  foe." 

Fortunate  the  visitor  who  is  admitted  of  a  morning 
for  the  high  discourse,  or  permitted  to  join  the  poet  in 
his  afternoon  walks  to  Walden,  the  cliffs,  or  elsewhere, 
—  hours  likely  to  be  remembered  as  unlike  any  others 
in  his  calendar  of  experiences.  I  may  say  for  me  they 
have  made  ideas  possible  by  hospitalities  given  to  a  fel 
lowship  so  enjoyable.  Shall  I  describe  them  as  sallies 
oftenest  into  the  cloud-lands,  into  scenes  and  intimacies 
ever  new,  none  the  less  novel  or  remote  than  when  first 
experienced,  colloquies,  in  favored  moments,  on  themes, 
perchance, 

"  Of  Fate,  free-will,  foreknowledge  absolute;  " 

nor  yet 

"  In  wand'riug  mazes  lost," 

as  in  Milton's  page  ; 

But  pathways  plain  through  starry  alcoves  high, 
Or  thence  descending  to  the  level  plains. 


CONCORD  DAYS. 

Interviews,  however,  bringing  their  trail  of  perplex 
ing  thoughts,  costing  some  days'  duties,  several  nights' 
sleep  oftentimes  to  restore  one  to  his  place  and  poise 
for  customary  employment ;  half  a  dozen  annually  being 
full  as  many  as  the  stoutest  heads  may  well  undertake 
without  detriment.  Certainly  safer  not  to  venture  with 
out  the  sure  credentials,  unless  one  will  have  his  pre 
tensions  pricked,  his  conceits  reduced  to  their  vague 
dimensions. 

"  Eools  have  no  means  to  meet 
But  by  their  feet." 

But  to  the  modest,  the  ingenuous,  the  gifted,  welcome  ! 
Nor  can  any  bearing  be  more  poetic  and  polite  than  his 
to  all  such,  to  youth  and  accomplished  women  espe 
cially.  I  may  not  intrude  further  than  to  say,  that, 
beyond  any  I  have  known,  his  is  a  faith  approaching  to 
superstition  concerning  admirable  persons,  the  divinity 
of  friendship  come  down  from  childhood,  and  surviving 
yet  in  memory  if  not  in  expectation,  the  rumor  of  ex 
cellence  of  any  sort  being  like  the  arrival  of  a  new  gift 
to  mankind,  and  he  the  first  to  proffer  his  recognition 
and  hope.  His  affection  for  conversation,  for  clubs,  is 
a  lively  intimation  of  this  religion  of  fellowship.  He, 
shall  we  say,  if  any,  must  have  taken  the  census  of  the 
admirable  people  of  his  time,  perhaps  numbering  as 
many  among  his  friends  as  most  living  Americans, 
while  he  is  recognized  as  the  representative  mind  of 
his  country,  to  whom  distinguished  foreigners  are  es 
pecially  commended  on  visiting  us. 


APRIL.  39 

Of  Emerson's  books  I  am  not  here  designing  to  speak 
critically,  rather  of  his  genius  and  personal  influence  ; 
yet,  in  passing,  may  remark  that  his  "  English  Traits" 
deserves  to  be  honored  as  one  in  which  England, 
Old  and  New,  may  alike  take  national  pride  as  being  the 
liveliest  portraiture  of  British  genius  and  accomplish 
ments  there  is,  —  a  book,  like  Tacitus,  to  be  quoted  as 
a  masterpiece  of  historical  painting,  and  perpetuating 
the  New-Englander's  fame  with  that  of  his  race.  *T  is 
a  victory  of  eyes  over  hands,  a  triumph  of  ideas.  Nor 
has  there  been  for  some  time  any  criticism  of  a  people 
so  characteristic  and  complete.  It  remains  for  him  to 
do  like  justice  to  New  England.  Not  a  metaphysician, 
and  rightly  discarding  any  claims  to  systematic  think 
ing  ;  the  poet  in  spirit,  if  not  always  in  form ;  the  con 
sistent  idealist,  yet  the  realist  none  the  less,  —  he  has 
illustrated  the  learning  and  thought  of  former  times  on 
the  noblest  themes,  coming  nearest  of  any  to  emanci 
pating  the  mind  of  his  own  from  the  errors  and  dreams 
of  past  ages. 

Plutarch  tells  us  that  of  old  they  were  wont  to  call 
men  4>wra,  which  imports  light,  not  only  for  the  vehe 
ment  desire  man  has  to  know,  but  to  communicate  also. 
And  the  Platonists  fancied  that  the  gods,  being  above 
men,  had  something  whereof  man  did  not  partake,  pure 
intellect  and  knowledge,  and  they  kept  on  their  way 
quietly.  The  beasts,  being  below  men,  had  something 
whereof  man  had  less,  sense  and  growth,  so  they  lived 


40  CONCOED  DAYS. 

quietly  in  their  way.  While  man  had  something  in  him 
whereof  neither  gods  nor  beasts  had  any  trace,  which 
gave  him  all  the  trouble,  and  made  all  the  confusion  in 
the  world,  —  and  that  was  egotism  and  opinion. 

A  liner  discrimination  of  gifts  might  show  that  Ge 
nius  ranges  through  this  threefold  dominion,  partaking 
in  turn  of  their  essence  and  degrees. 

Was  our  poet  planted  so  fast  in  intellect,  so  firmly 
rooted  in  the  mind,  so  dazzled  with  light,  yet  so  cleft 
withal  by  duplicity  of  gifts,  that  fated  thus  to  trav 
erse  the  mid-world  of  contrast  and  contrariety,  he  was 
ever  glancing  forth  from  his  coverts  at  life  as  reflected 
through  his  dividing  prism,  the  resident  never  long  of 
the  tracts  he  surveyed,  yet  their  persistent  Muse  never 
theless?  And  so  housed  in  the  Mind,  and  sallying 
forth  from  thence  in  quest  of  his  game,  whether  of  per 
sons  or  things,  he  was  the  Mercury,  the  merchantman 
of  ideas  to  his  century.  Nor  was  he  personally 
alone  in  his  thinking.  Beside  him  stood  his  towns 
man,  whose  sylvan  intelligence,  fast  rooted  in  Nature, 
was  yet  armed  with  a  sagacity,  a  subtlety  and  strength, 
that  penetrated  while  divining  the  essences  of  creatures 
and  things  he  studied,  and  of  which  he  seemed  Atlas 
and  Head. 

Forcible  protestants  against  the  materialism  of  their 
own,  as  of  preceding  times,  these  masterly  Idealists 
substantiate  beyond  all  question  their  right  to  the 
empires  they  sway,  —  the  rich  estates  of  an  original 
Genius. 


APRIL.  41 


RECREATION. 

FRIDAY,  16. 

A -FIELD  all  summer,  all  winter  in-doors,  was  the 
Anglo-Saxon  rule,  and  holds  good  for  the  Anglo- 
American  to-day.  Englishmen  still,  here  in  New  Eng 
land  we  borrow,  at  some  variance  with  the  sun's  courses, 
our  calendar  from  the  old  country.  Ordinarily  our 
seasons  fall  almost  a  month  later,  our  winter  hardly 
opening  till  New-year's,  nor  spring  till  All  Fools'  Day, 
the  date  of  which  can  hardly  fall  amiss,  and  with  All 
Saints'  may  be  left  indefinite  in  wit's  almanac.  Doubt 
less  there  is  a  closer  sympathy  than  we  suspect  between 
souls  and  seasons.  Sensitive  to  climate  within  as 
weather  without,  our  intelligence  dips  or  rises  as  the 
signs  range  from  Aries  to  Pisces  in  the  ideal  ephemeris, 
measuring  to  faculty  and  member  in  turn  the  rising  or 
falling  tides,  and  so  determining  our  solar  and  lunar 
periods. 

"  'T  is  not  every  day  that  I 

Fitted  am  to  prophesy ; 

No ;  but  when  the  spirit  fills 

The  fantastic  pinnacles 

Full  of  fire,  then  I  write 

As  the  Godhead  doth  indite. 

Thus  enraged,  my  lines  are  hurled, 

Like  the  sibyls,  through  the  world. 

Look,  how  next  the  holy  fire 

Either  slakes,  or  doth  retire ; 

So  the  fancy  carols,  till  when 

That  brave  spirit  comes  again." 


42  CONCOKD  DATS. 

Nature  is^the  best  dictionary  and  school  of  eloquence ; 
genius  the  pupil  of  sun  and  stars,  wood-lands,  waters, 
the  fields,  the  spectacle  of  things  seen  under  all  aspects, 
in  all  seasons  and  moods.  Blot  these  from  his  vision, 
and  the  scholar's  page  were  of  small  account. x  Letters 
show  pale  and  poor  from  inside  chambers  and  halls  of 
learning  alone ;  and  whoever  will  deal  directly  with 
ideas,  is  often  abroad  to  import  the  stuff  of  things  into 
his  diction,  and  clothe  them  in  a  rhetoric  robust  and 
racy,  addressing  the  senses  and  mind  at  once.  One 
is  surprised  at  finding  how  a  little  exercise,  though 
taken  for  the  thousandth  time,  and  along  familiar 
haunts  even,  refreshes  and  strengthens  body  and  mind. 
A  turn  about  his  grounds,  a  sally  into  the  woods, 
climbing  the  hill-top,  sauntering  by  brook-sides,  brings 
him  back  with  new  senses  and  a  new  soul.  One's  hand 
writing  becomes  illuminated  as  he  turns  his  leaves,  the 
thoughts  standing  out  distinctly,  which  before  were 
blurred,  and  failed  to  show  their  import.  Then  his 
thought  is  sprightliest,  and  tells  its  tale  firmly  to  the 
end.  It  sets  flowing  what  blood  one  has  in  his 
veins,  quickening  wonderfully  his  circulations ;  he  is 
valiant,  humorsome,  the  soul  prevailing  in  every  part, 
and  he  takes  hope  of  himself  and  the  world  around  him. 

An  open  fire,  too,  that  best  of  friends  to  greet  him 
within  doors  for  most  of  the  months  ;  better  than  coun 
cils  of  friends  to  settle  numerous  questions  wont  to 
smoulder  and  fret  by  an  air-tight,  or  flash  forth  in  no 
lovely  manner  at  unexpected  moments.  And  where 


APRIL.  43 

else  is  conversation  possible?  A  countr}Tman  without 
an  open  fire  will  consider  whether  he  can  afford  to 
spend  himself  and  family  to  spare  his  wood-lot.  It  was 
comforting  to  see  the  other  day  on  a  bookseller's  coun 
ter,  tiles  of  porcelain,  with  suggestive  devices  of  the 
graceful  hospitalities  of  the  olden  time,  when  every 
mantelpiece  had  its  attractions  of  fable  and  verse,  the 
conversation  enhanced  by  the  friendly  blaze,  around 
which  the  family  gathered  and  paid  their  devotions  to 
friendships,  human  and  divine. 

"  Go  where  I  will,  thou  lucky  Lar,  stay  here 
Close  by  the  glittering  chimney  all  the  year." 

Then,  a  country-seat  for  summer  and  a  city  residence 
for  the  winter  were  desirable.  For  recreation,  the  due 
allowance  taken  from  business,  leisures  as  profitable  as 
labors,  alike  enjoyable,  and  promoting  the  relish  for 
more. 

"  Books,  studies,  business,  entertain  the  light, 
And  sleep  as  undisturbed  as  death  the  night. 
Acquaintance  one  would  have,  but  when  it  depends 
Not  on  the  number,  but  the  choice  of  friends. 
His  house  a  cottage  more 
Than  palace,  and  should  fitting  be 
For  all  his  use,  no  luxury." 

One's  house  should  be  roomy  enough  for  his  thought, 
for  his  family  and  guests  ;  honor  the  ceilings,  and  geni 
ality  the  hearthstone.  Ample  apartments,  a  charming 
landscape  and  surroundings  ;  these  have  their  influence 


44  CONCOED  DATS. 

on  the  dispositions,  the  tastes,  manners  of  the  inmates, 
and  are  not  to  be  left  out  of  account.  Yet,  without 
nobility  to  grace  them,  what  were  the  mostly  palace,  its 
parlors  and  parks,  luxuries  and  elegancies,  within  or 
without,  —  the  handsome  house  owing  its  chief  beauty 
to  the  occupants,  the  company,  one's  virtues  and  accom 
plishments  draw  inside  of  the  mansion  ;  persons  being 
the  figures  that  grace  the  edifice,  else  unfurnished,  and 
but  a  showy  pile  of  ostentation  and  folly,  as  desolate 
within  as  pretentious  without. 

"  Two  things  money  cannot  buy, 
Breeding  and  integrity." 

"  It  happens,"  says  Plutarch,  "  that  neither  rich  fur 
niture,  nor  moveables,  nor  abundance  of  gold,  nor  de 
scent  from  an  illustrious  family,  nor  greatness  of  author 
ity,  nor  eloquence,  and  all  the  charms  of  speaking,  can 
procure  so  great  a  serenity  of  life,  as  a  mind  free  from 
guilt  and  kept  untainted,  not  only  from  actions  but  from 
purposes  that  are  wicked.  By  this  means  the  soul  will 
be  not  only  unpolluted,  but  not  disturbed  ;  the  fountain 
will  run  clear  and  unsullied,  and  the  streams  that  flow 
from  it  will  be  just  and  honest  deeds,  full  of  satisfac 
tion,  a  brisk  energy  of  spirit  which  makes  a  man  an 
enthusiast  in  his  joy,  and  a  tenacious  memory  sweeter 
than  hope,  which,  as  Pindar  says,  i  with  a  virgin 
warmth  cherishes  old  men.'  For  as  shrubs  which  are 
cut  down  with  morning  dew  upon  them,  do  for  a  long 
time  after  retain  their  fragrance,  so  the  good  actions  of 


APEIL.  45 

a  wise  man  perfume  his  mind  and  leave  a  rich  scent 
behind  them.  So  that  joy  is,  as  it  were,  watered  with 
those  essences,  and  owes  its  flourishing  to  them." 


o 


GENEALOGIES. 

MONDAY,  19. 

NE  values  his  chosen  place  of  residence,  whether 
he  be  a  native  or  not,  less  for  its  natural  history 
and  advantages  than  for  its  civil  and  social  privileges. 

"The  hills  were  reared,  the  rivers  scooped  in  vain, 
If  learning's  altars  vanish  from  the  plain." 

And  all  the  more,  if,  while  retaining  the  ancient  man 
ners,  it  cherish  the  family  sentiment  against  the  strag 
gling  habits  which  separate  members  so  widely  in  our 
times  that  intercourse  is  had  seldomer  than  of  old ; 
names  of  kindred  hardly  surviving  save  in  the  fresh 
recollections  of  childhood  by  the  dwellers  apart ;  far 
more  of  life  than  we  know  being  planted  fast  in  ances 
tral  homes,  the  best  of  it  associated  with  these,  as  if 
there  were  a  geography  of  the  affections  that  nothing 
could  uproot. 

A  people  can  hardly  have  attained  to  nationality  till 
it  knows  its  ancestor  and  is  not  ashamed  of  its  antece 
dents.  If  such  studies  were  once  deemed  beneath  the 
dignity  of  an  American,  they  are  no  longer.  We  are 
not  the  less  national  for  honoring  our  forefathers. 


46  CONCORD  DAYS. 

Blood  is  a  history.  Blood  is  a  destiny.  How  persis 
tent  it  is,  let  the  institutions  of  England,  Old  and  New, 
bear  testimony,  since  on  this  prerogative  —  call  it 
race,  rank,  family,  nature,  culture,  nationality,  what 
you  will  —  both  peoples  stand  and  pride  themselves, 
lion  and  eagle,  an  impregnable  Saxondom,  a  common 
speech,  blazoning  their  descent. 

"  Ours  is  the  tongue  the  bards  sang  In  of  old, 
And  Druids  their  dark  knowledge  did  unfold ; 
Merlin  in  this  his  prophesies  did  vent, 
Which  through  the  world  of  fame  bear  such  extent. 
Thus  spake  the  son  of  Mars,  and  Britain  bold, 
Who  first  'mongst  Christian  worthies  is  enrolled ; 
And  many  thousand  more,  whom  but  to  name 
Were  but  to  syllable  great  Shakespeare's  fame." 

A  strong  race,  the  blood  flows  boldly  in  its  veins, 
truculent,  if  need  be,  aggressive,  and  holding  its  own, 
as  pronounced  in  the  women  as  in  the  men,  here  in 
New  England  as  in  Old,  the  dragon  couchant  and  ready 
to  spring  in  defence  of  privileges  and  titles  ;  magnani 
mous  none  the  less,  and  merciful,  as  in  the  times  of 
St.  George  and  Bonduca.  One  needs  but  read  Tacitus 
on  the  Manners  of  the  Ancient  Germans,  to  find 
the  parentage  of  traits  which  still  constitute  the  Eng 
lishmen,  Old  and  New,  showing  how  persistent,  under 
every  variety  of  geographical  and  political  conditions, 
is  the  genius  of  races. 

'Tis  due  to  every  name  that  some  one  or  more 
inheriting  it  should  search  out  its  traits  and  titles,  as 


APRIL.  47 

these  descend  along  the  stream  of  generations  and  re 
appear  in  individuals.  And  we  best  study  the  fortunes 
of  families,  of  races  and  peoples,  here  at  their  sources. 
Even  heraldries  have  their  significance.  And  it  is  ac 
counted  the  rule  that  names  are  entitled  to  the  better 
qualities  of  their  emblazonries,  each  having  something 
admirable  and  to  be  honored  in  its  origin.* 

Thus  the  Cock  is  alike  the  herald  of  the  dawn  and 
sentinel  of  the  night ;  the  emblem  of  watchfulness  and  of 


*  Verstegan,  in  his  Restitution  of  Decayed  Intelligence,  in  Antiquities  con 
cerning  the  most  Noble  and  Renowned  English  Nation,  1634,  treating  of  the 
origin  of  names,  says:  — 

*'  For  a  general  rule,  the  reader  may  please  to  note,  that  our  surnames  of 
families,  be  they  of  one  or  more  syllables,  that  have  either  a  k  or  a  w,  are  all 
of  them  of  the  ancient  English  race,  so  that  neither  the  k  or  w  are  used  in 
Latin,  nor  in  any  of  the  three  languages  thereon  depending,  which  some 
times  causes  confusion  in  the  writing  our  names  (originally  coming  from  the 
Teutonic)  in  Latin,  Italian,  French,  and  Spanish  languages.  Neither  the 
k  nor  w  being  in  the  Latin  nor  in  the  French,  they  could  not  be  with  the 
Normans  in  use,  whose  language  waa  French,  as  also  their  surnames.  As 
for  the  surnames  in  our  Norman  catalogue  which  have  in  them  the  letters  k 
and  w,  which  the  French  do  not  use,  these  are  not  to  be  thought  to  have  been 
Norman,  but  of  those  gentlemen  of  Flanders  which  Baldwin,  the  Earl  of 
that  country  and  father-in-law  unto  the  Conquerer,  did  send  to  aid  him. 
Besides  these,  sundry  other  surnames  do  appear  to  have  been  in  the  Nether 
lands  and  not  in  Normandy;  albeit  they  are  without  doubt  set  in  the  list  of 
the  Normans.  And  whereas  in  searching  for  such  as  may  remain  in  Eng 
land  of  the  race  of  the  Danes,  they  are  not  such  as,  according  to  the  vulgar 
opinion,  have  their  surnames  ending  in  son.  In  the  Netherlands,  it  is  often 
found  that  very  many  surnames  end  in  son,  as  Johnson,  Williamson, 
Phillipson,  and  the  like;  i.  e.  sons  of  that  name  of  John,  etc. 

Then  some  have  their  surnames  according  to  the  color  of  hair  or  com 
plexion,  as  white,  black,  brown,  gray,  and  reddish ;  and  those  in  whom  theeo 
names  from  such  causes  begin,  do  thereby  lose  their  former  denomination. 
Borne  again  for  their  surnames  have  the  names  of  beasts ;  and  it  should  seem 


48  CONCOED  DAYS. 

wisdom  ;  of  vigilance  and  of  perseverance,  and  Semper 
Vigilans,  the  appropriate  motto  of  family  arms  bearing 
the  name  with  its  variations. 
So  the  poet 

OF  THE  COCK. 

"  Father  of  Lights !  what  sunny  seed, 
What  glance  of  day,  hast  thou  confined 
Unto  this  bird  ?    To  all  the  breed 
This  busy  ray  thou  hast  assigned ; 
Their  magnetism  works  all  night 
And  dreams  of  paradise  and  light, 
It  seems  their  candle  howe'er  done 
Was  tin'd  and  lighted  at  the  sun." 


for  one  thing  or  another  wherein  they  represented  some  property  of  theirs; 
as  lion,  wolf,  fox,  bull,  buck,  hare,  hart,  lamb,  and  the  like.  Others  of 
birds;  as  cock,  peacock,  swan,  crane,  heron,  partridge,  dove,  sparrow,  and 
the  like.  Others  offish;  as  salmon,  herring,  rock,  pilchard,  and  the  like. 
And  albeit  the  ancestors  of  the  bearers  of  these  had  in  other  times  other 
surnames,  yet  because  almost  ail  these  and  other  like  names  do  belong  to 
our  English  tongue,  I  do  think  him  to  be  of  the  ancient  English,  and  if  not 
all,  yet  the  most  part.  And  hereby  occasion  of  these  names,  I  must  note, 
and  that  as  it  were  for  a  general  rule,  that  what  family  soever  has  their  first 
and  chief  coat  of  arms  correspondent  unto  their  surname,  it  is  evident  sign 
that  it  had  that  surname  before  it  had  those  arms." 


APEIL.  49 


SCHOLARSHIP. 

WEDNESDAY,  28. 

Apart  they  sit,  the  better  know, 
Why  towns  and  talk  sway  men  below. 

"TjlREEDOM  from  affairs,  and  leisure  to  entertain  his 
J-  thoughts,  is  the  scholar's  paradise.  Hardly  less 
the  delight  in  comparing  notes  with  another  in  conver 
sation.  It  is  the  chiefest  of  satisfactions  this  last, 
where  sympathy  is  possible  and  perfect.  One  does  not 


of  anotherjg.  Personal  perspective  gives  the  distance 
necessary  to  bring  out  its  significance.  "  There  are 
some,"  says  Thoreau,  "whose  ears  help  me  so  much 
that  my  things  have  a  rare  significance  when  I  read  to 
them.  It  is  almost  too  good  a  hearing,  so  that,  for  the 
time,  I  regard  my  writing  from  too  favorable  a  point  of 
view."  Yet  the  criticism  of  admiration  is  far  more 
acceptable  and  the  more  likely  to  be  just  than  that  of 
censure.  Much  learning  does  not  make  an  accom 
plished  critic;  taste,  sensibility,  sympathy,  ideality, 
are  indispensable.  A  man  of  talent  may  apprehend 
and  judge  fairly  of  works  of  his  class.  But  genius 
alone  comprehends  and  appreciates  truly  the  works  of 
genius. 

Nor  are  all  moods  equally  favorable  for  criticism. 
"  It  may  be  owing  to  my  mood  at  the  time,"  says 
3 


50  CONCOED  DATS. 

Goethe,  "  but  it  seems  to  me,  that  as  well  in  treating 
of  writings  as  of  actions,  unless  one  speak  with  a  lov 
ing  sympathy,  a  certain  enthusiasm,  the  result  is  so 
defective  as  to  have  little  value.  Pleasure,  delight, 
sympathy  in  things,  is  all  that  is  real ;  and  that  repro 
duces  reality  in  us  ;  all  else  is  empty  and  vain."  One 
must  seize  the  traits  as  they  rise  with  the  tender  touch, 
else  they  elude  and  dissolve  in  the  moment ;  pass  into 
the  obscurity  out  of  which  they  emerged,  and  are 
lost  forever.  Much  depends  upon  this,  that  one 
make  the  most  of  his  time,  and  miss  no  propitious 
moods. 

Rarely  does  one  win  a  success  with  either  tongue  or 
pen.  Of  the  books  printed,  scarcely  never  the  volume 
entire  justifies  its  appearance  ID  type.  Much  is  void 
of  deep  and  permanent  significance,  touches  nothing 
in  one's  experience,  and  fails  to  command  attention. 
Even  subjects  of  gravest  quality,  unless  treated  sug 
gestively,  find  no  place  in  a  permanent  literature.  It 
is  not  enough  that  the  thing  is  literally  defined,  stated 
logically ;  it  needs  to  be  complemented  ideally,  —  set 
forth  in  lucid  imagery  to  tell  the  story  to  the  end.  Style 
carries  weight  oftentimes  when  seemingly  light  itself. 
Movement  is  necessary,  while  the  logic  is  unapparent, 
—  all  the  more  profound  and  edifying  as  it  appeals  to 
and  speaks  from  the  deeper  instincts,  and  so  makes 
claims  upon  the  reader's  mind.  That  is  good  which 
stands  strong  in  its  own  strength,  detached  from  local 
relations.  So  a  book  of  thoughts  suggests  thought, 


APEIL.  51 

edifies,  inspires.  Whatever  interests  at  successive 
readings  has  life  in  it,  and  deserves  type  and 
paper. 

My  code  of  composition  stands  thus,  and  this  is  my 
advice  to  whom  it  may  concern  :  — 

Burn  every  scrap  that  stands  not  the  test  of  all  moods 
of  criticism.  Such  lack  longevity.  What  is  left  gains 
immensely.  Such  is  ttie  law.  Very  little  of  what  is 
thought  admirable  at  the  writing  holds  good  over 
night.  Sleep  on  your  writing ;  take  a  walk  over  it ; 
scrutinize  it  of  a  morning  ;  review  it  of  an  afternoon  ; 
digest  it  after  a  meal ;  let  it  sleep  in  your  drawer  a 
twelvemonth  ;  never  venture  a  whisper  about  it  to  your 
friend,  if  he  be  an  author  especially.  You  may  read 
selections  to  sensible  women,  —  if  young  the  better  ;  and 
if  it  stand  these  trials,  you  may  offer  it  to  a  publisher, 
and  think  yourself  fortunate  if  he  refuse  to  print  it. 
Then  you  may  be  sure  you  have  written  a  book  worthy 
of  type,  and  wait  with  assurance  for  a  publisher  and 
reader  thirty  years  hence,  —  that  is,  when  you  are  en 
gaged  in  authorship  that  needs  neither  type  nor  pub 
lisher. 

"  Learning,"  says  Fuller,  "  hath  gained  most  by  those 
books  by  which  the  printers  have  lost."  It  must  be  an 
enlightened  public  that  asks  for  works  the  most  enlight 
ened  publishers  decline  printing.  A  magazine  were 
ruined  already  if  it  reflected  its  fears  only.  Yet  one 
cannot  expect  the  trade  to  venture  reputation  or  money 
in  spreading  unpopular  views. 


52  CONCORD  DATS. 

Ben  Jonson  wrote  to  his  bookseller :  — 

"  Thou  that  mak'st  gain  thy  end,  and  wisely  well 
Call'st  a  book  good  or  bad,  as  it  doth  sell, 
Use  mine  so  too ;  I  give  thee  leave,  but  crave 
For  the  luck's  sake,  it  thus  much  favor  have ;  — 
To  lie  upon  thy  stall,  till  it  be  sought, 
Not  offered  as  it  made  suit  to  be  bought ; 
Nor  have  my  title  page  on  posts  or  walls, 
Or  in  cleft-sticks  advanced  to  make  calls 
For  termers,  or  some  clerk-like  serving  man 
"Who  scarce  can  spell  the  hard  names,  whose  knight 

less  can. 

If,  without  these  vile  arts  it  will  not  sell, 
Send  it  to  Bucklersbury,  there  't  will,  well." 

Time  is  the  best  critic,  and  the  better  for  his  intoler 
ance  of  any  inferiority.  And  fortunate  for  literature 
that  he  is  thus  choice  and  exacting.  Books,  like  char 
acter,  are  works  of  time,  and  must  run  the  gauntlet  of 
criticism  to  gain  enduring  celebrity.  The  best  books 
may  sometimes  wait  for  their  half  century,  or  longer, 
for  appreciative  readers  —  create  their  readers  ;  the  few 
ready  to  appreciate  these  at  their  issue  being  the  most 
enlightened  of  their  time,  and  they  diffuse  the  light  to 
their  circle  of  readers.  The  torch  of  truth  thus  trans 
mitted  sheds  its  light  over  hemispheres,  —  the  globe  at 
last. 

"  Hail  I  native  language,  that  with  sinews  weak 
Didst  move  my  first  endeavoring  tongue  to  speak, 
And  mad'st  imperfect  words  with  childish  trips 
Half  unpronounced  slide  through  my  infant  lips, 


APRIL.  53 

Driving  dull  silence  from  the  portal  door 
Where  he  had  mutely  sat  two  years  before  — 
Here  I  salute  thee,  and  thy  pardon  ask 
That  now  I  use  thee  in  my  latter  task. 
Now  haste  thee  strait  to  do  me  once  a  pleasure, 
And  from  thy  wardrobe  bring  thy  chiefest  treasure, 
Not  those  new-fangled  toys,  and  trimming  slight, 
Which  takes  our  late  fantastics  with  delight, 
But  cull  those  richest  robes,  and  gay'st  attire, 
Which  deepest  spirits  and  choicest  wits  admire." 

Thus  wrote  Milton  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  and  made 
his  college  illustrious  and  the  language  afterwards.  Yet, 
the  purest  English  is  not  always  spoken  or  written  by 
graduates  of  universities.  Speech  is  the  fruit  of  breed 
ing  and  of  character,  and  one  shall  find  sometimes  in 
remote  rural  districts  the  language  spoken  in  its  sim 
plicity  and  purity,  especially  by  sprightly  boys  and 
girls  who  have  not  been  vexed  with  their  grammars  and 
school  tasks. ;  Ours  is  one  of  the  richest  of  the  spoken 
tongues ;  it  may  not  be  the  simplest  in  structure  and 
ease  of  attainment ;  yet  this  last  may  be  facilitated  by 
simple  and  natural  methods  of  studying  it.  Taught  by 
masters  like  Ascham  or  Milton,  students  might  acquire 
the  art  of  speaking  and  of  writing  the  language  in  its 
purity  and  elegance,  as  did  these  great  masters  in  their 
day.  Ascham  lays  down  this  sensible  rule  :  "  He  that 
will  write  well  in  any  tongue,  must  follow  this  advice  of 
Aristotle  :  '  to  speak  as  the  common  people  do,  to  think  as 
wise  men  cZo,  and  so  should  every  man  understand  him, 
and  the  judgment  of  wise  men  about  him''9 


54  CONCOED  DAYS. 

George  Chapman,  the  translator  of  Homer,  thus 
speaks  of  the  scholarly  pedantries  of  his  time,  of  which 
ours  affords  too  many  examples  :  — 

"Eor  as  great  clerks  can  use  no  English  words, 
Because  (alas!  great  clerks)  English  affords, 
Say  they,  no  height  nor  copy,  —  a  rude  tongue, 
Since  't  is  their  native,  —  but,  in  Greek  and  Latin 
Their  wits  are  rare,  for  thence  true  poesy  sprung, 
Through  which,  truth  knows,  they  have  but  skill  to 

chat  in, 
Compared  with  what  they  might  have  in  their  own." 

Camclen  said,  "  that  though  our  tongue  may  not  be 
as  sacred  as  the  Hebrew,  nor  as  learned  as  the  Greek, 
yet  it  is  as  fluent  as  the  Latin,  as  courteous  as  the 
Spanish,  as  court-like  as  the  French,  and  as  amorous  as 
the  Italian ;  so  that  being  beautified  and  enriched  out 
of  these  tongues,  partly  by  enfranchising  and  endeniz- 
ing  foreign  words,  partly  by  implanting  new  ones  with 
artful  composition,  our  tongue  is  as  copious,  pithy,  and 
significative  as  any  in  Europe." 

If  one  would  learn  its  riches  at  sight,  let  him  glance 
along  the  pages  of  Richardson's  Dictionary;  and  at 
the  same  time  survey  its  history  from  Gower  and 
Chaucer  down  to  our  time. 

"If  there  be,  what  I  believe  there  is,"  says  Dr.  John 
son,  "  in  every  nation,  a  style  which  never  becomes 
obsolete,  a  certain  mode  of  phraseology  so  component 
and  congenial  to  the  analogy  and  principles  of  its  re 
spective  language  as  to  remain  settled  and  unaltered ; 


APRIL. 


55 


this  style  is  probably  to  be  sought  in  the  common 
intercourse  of  life,  among  those  who  speak  only  to  be 
understood,  without  ambition  of  eloquence.  The  po 
lite  are  always  catching  modish  expressions,  and  the 
learned  depart  from  established  forms  of  speech,  in 
hope  of  finding  or  making  it  better  ;  those  who  wish  for 
distinction  forsake  the  vulgar  when  the  vulgar  is  right ; 
but  there  is  a  conversation  above  grossness  and  below 
refinement,  where  propriety  resides,  and  where  Shake 
speare  seems  to  have  gathered  his  comic  dialogues. 
He  is  therefore  more  agreeable  to  the  ears  of  the  pres 
ent  age  than  any  other  author  equally  remote,  and 
among  his  other  excellences  deserves  to  be  studied  as 
one  of  the  original  masters  of  the  language." 


MAY. 


"Sweet  country  life,  to  such  unknown 
Whose  lives  are  others,  not  their  own, 
But  serving  courts  and  cities,  be 
Less  bappy,  less  enjoying  thee." 

—  Hcrrlck. 


RURAL    AFFAIRS. 

MONDAY,  3. 

FAIR  spring  days,  the  farmers  beginning  the  plant 
ing  of  the  season's  crops.  One  cannot  well  forego 
the  pleasures  which  the  culture  of  a  garden  affords.  He 
must  have  a  little  spot  upon  which  to  bestow  his  affec 
tions,  and  own  his  affinities  with  earth  and  sky.  The 
profits  in  a  pecuniary  way  may  be  inconsiderable,  but 
the  pleasures  are  rewarding.  Formerly  I  allowed  nei 
ther  hoe,  spade,  nor  rake,  not  handled  by  myself,  to 
approach  my  plants.  But  when  one  has  put  his  garden 
within  covers,  to  be  handled  in  a  book,  he  fancies  he 
has  earned  the  privilege  of  delegating  the  tillage  there 
after,  in  part,  to  other  hands,  and  may  please  himself 
with  its  superintendence  ;  especially  when  he  is  so  for 
tunate  as  to  secure  the  services  of  any  who  can  take 
their  orders  without  debater,  and  execute  them  with  dis 
patch  ;  and  if  he  care  to  compare  opinions  with  them, 
find  they  have  views  of  their  own,  and  respect  for  his. 
And  the  more  agreeable  if  they  have  a  pleasant  humor 
and  the  piety  of  lively  spirits. 

"  In  laborer's  ballads  oft  more  piety 
God  finds  than  in  Te  Deum's  melody." 


60  CONCORD  DATS. 

"  When  our  ancestors,"  says  Cato,  "  praised  a  good 
man,  they  called  him  a  good  agriculturist  and  a  good 
husbandman  ;  he  was  thought  to  be  greatly  honored  who 
was  thus  praised." 

Without  his  plot  of  ground  for  tillage  and  ornamen 
tation,  a  countryman  seems  out  of  place,  its  culture  and 
keeping  being  the  best  occupation  for  keeping  himself 
wholesome  and  sweet.  The  garden  is  the  tie  uniting 
man  and  nature.  How  civic  an  orchard  shows  in  a 
clearing, —  a  garden  in  a  prairie,  as  if  nature  waited  for 
man  to  arrive  and  complete  her,  by  converting  the  wild 
into  the  human,  and  thus  to  marry  beauty  and  utility  on 
the  spot !  A  house,  too,  without  garden  or  orchard,  is 
unfurnished,  incomplete,  does  not  fulfil  our  ideas  of  the 
homestead,  but  stands  isolate,  defiant  in  its  individual 
ism,  with  a  savage,  slovenly  air,  and  distance,  that  lacks 
softening  and  blending  with  the  surrounding  landscape. 
Besides,  it  were  tantalizing  to  note  the  natural  advan 
tages  of  one's  grounds,  and  at  the  same  time  be  unskil 
ful  to  complete  what  nature  has  sketched  for  the  hand 
of  art  to  adorn  and  idealize.  With  a  little  skill,  good 
taste,  and  small  outlay  of  time  and  pains,  one  may 
render  any  spot  a  pretty  paradise  of  beauty  and  com 
fort,  —  if  these  are  not  one  in  due  combination,  and  not 
for  himself  only,  but  for  those  who  shall  inherit  when 
he  shall  have  left  it.  The  rightful  ownership  in  the 
landscape  is  born  of  one's  genius,  partakes  of  his  es 
sence  thus  wrought  with  the  substance  of  the  soil,  the 
structures  which  he  erects  thereon.  Whoever  enriches 


MAT.  61 

and  adorns  the  smallest  spot,  lives  not  in  vain.  For 
him  the  poet  sings,  the  moralist  points  his  choicest 
periods. 

I  know  of  nothing  better  suited  to  inspire  a  taste  for 
rural  affairs  than  a  Gardener's  Almanac,  containing 
matters  good  to  be  known  by  country  people.  All  the 
more  attractive  the  volume  if  tastefully  illustrated,  and 
contain  reprints  of  select  pastoral  verses,  biographies, 
with  portraits  of  those  who  have  written  on  country 
affairs,  and  lists  of  their  works.  The  old  herbals,  too, 
with  all  their  absurdities,  are  still  tempting  books,  and 
contain  much  information  important  for  the  country 
man  to  possess.* 

Cowley  and  Evelyn  are  of  rural  authors  the  most  at- 


*  To  the  list  of  ancient  authors,  as  Cato,  Columella,  Varro,  Palladius, 
Virgii,  Theocritus,  Tibullus,  selections  might  be  added  from  Cowley,  Mar 
io  we,  Browne,  Spenser,  Tusser, Dyer,  Phillips,  Shenstone,  Cowper,  Thom 
son,  and  others  less  known.  Evelyn's  works  are  of  great  value,  his  Kalen- 
darium  Ho  rtense  particularly.  And  for  showing  the  state  of  agriculture  and 
of  the  language  in  his  time,  Tusser's  Five  Hundred  Points  of  Husbandry  is 
full  of  information,  while  his  quaint  humor  adds  to  his  rugged  rhymes  a 
primitive  charm.  Then  of  the  old  herbals,  Gerard's  is  best  known.  He  waa 
the  father  of  English  herbalists,  and  had  a  garden  attached  to  his  house  in 
Holbern.  Coles  published  his  Adam  in  Eden,  the  Paradise  of  Plants,  in 
1659 ;  Austin  his  Treatise  on  Fruit  Trees  ten  years  earlier.  Dr.  Holland's 
translation  of  the  School  of  Salerne,  or  the  Regiment  of  Health,  appeared 
in  1649.  Thos.  Tryon  wrote  on  the  virtues  of  plants,  and  on  health,  about  the 
same  time,  and  his  works  are  very  suggestive  and  valuable.  Miller,  gardener 
to  the  Chelsea  Gardens,  gave  the  first  edition  of  his  Gardener's  Dictionary 
to  the  press  in  1731.  Sir  William  Temple  also  wrote  sensibly  on  herbs. 
Cowley's  Six  Books  of  Plants  was  published  in  English  in  1708.  Phillips' 
History  of  Cultivated  Plants,  etc.,  published  in  1822,  is  a  book  of  great 
merit.  So  is  Culpepper's  Herbal. 


62  CONCOED  DAYS. 

tractive.  Cowley's  Essays  are  delightful  reading.  Nor 
shall  I  forgive  his  biographer  for  destroying  the  letters 
of  a  man  of  whom  King  Charles  said  at  his  interment 
in  Westminster  Abbey,  "  Mr.  Cowley  has  not  left  a 
better  in  England."  The  friend  and  correspondent  of 
the  most  distinguished  poets,  statesmen,  and  gentlemen 
of  his  time,  himself  the  first  poet  of  his  da}^,  his  letters 
must  have  been  most  interesting  and  important,  and 
but  for  the  unsettled  temper  of  affairs,  would  doubtless 
have  been  added  to  our  polite  literature. 

Had  King  Charles  remembered  Cowley's  friend  Evelyn, 
the  compliment  both  to  the  living  and  dead  would 
have  been  just.  Evelyn  was  the  best  of  citizens  and  most 
loyal  of  subjects.  A  complete  list  of  his  writings 
shows  to  what  excellent  uses  he  gave  himself.  The 
planter  of  forests  in  his  time,  he  might  be  profitably  con 
sulted  as  regards  the  replanting  of  New  England  now. 

Respecting  his  planting,  and  the  origin  of  his 
Sylva,  he  writes  to  his  friend,  Lady  Sunderland,  Au 
gust,  1690:  — 

"  As  to  the  Kalendar  your  ladyship  mentions,  what 
ever  assistance  it  may  be  to  some  novice  gardener,  sure 
I  am  his  lordship  will  find  nothing  in  it  worth  his  no 
tice,  but  an  old  inclination  to  an  innocent  diversion ; 
and  the  acceptance  it  found  with  my  dear,  and  while  he 
lived,  worthy  friend,  Mr.  Cowley ;  upon  whose  reputa 
tion  only  it  has  survived  seven  impressions,  and  is  now 
entering  on  the  eighth,  with  some  considerable  improve 
ment  more  agreeable  to  the  present  curiosity.  Tis 


MAT.  63 

now,  Madam,  almost  forty  years  since  I  first  writ  it, 
when  horticulture  was  not  much  advanced  in  England, 
and  near  thirty  years  since  it  was  published,  which  con 
sideration  will,  I  hope,  excuse  its  many  defects.  If  in 
the  meantime  it  deserve  the  name  of  no  unuseful  trifle, 
't  is  all  it  is  capable  of. 

"  When,  many  years  ago,  I  came  from  rambling 
abroad,  and  a  great  deal  more  since  I  came  home 
than  gave  me  much  satisfaction,  and,  as  events 
have  proved,  scarce  worth  one's  pursuit,  I  cast  about 
how  I  should  employ  the  time  which  hangs  on  most 
young  men's  hands,  to  the  best  advantage ;  and, 
when  books  and^grav.e  studies  grew  tedious,  and  other 
impertinence  would  be  pressing,  by  what  innocent 
diversions  I  might  sometimes  relieve  myself  without 
compliance  to  recreations  I  took  no  felicity  in,  because 
they  did  not  contribute  to  any  improvement  of  mind. 
This  set  me  upon  planting  of  trees,  and  brought  forth 
my  Sylva,  which  book,  infinitely  beyond  my  expec 
tations,  is  now  also  calling  for  a  fourth  impression,  and 
has  been  the  occasion  of  propagating  many  millions  of 
useful  timber  trees  throughout  this  nation,  as  I  may 
justify  without  immodesty,  from  many  letters  of  ac 
knowledgement  received  from  gentlemen  of  the  first 
quality,  and  others  altogether  strangers  to  me.  His 
late  Majest}',  Charles  II,  was  sometimes  graciously 
pleased  to  take  notice  of  it  to  me  ;  and  that  I  had  ty 
that  booK  alone  incited  a  world  of  planters  to  repair 
their  broken  estates  and  woods  which  the  greedy  rebels 


64  CONCORD  DAYS. 

had  wasted  and  made  such  havoc  of.  Upon  encourage 
ment,  I  was  once  speaking  to  a  mighty  man  then  in  des 
potic  power  to  mention  the  great  inclination  I  had  to 
serve  his  majesty  in  a  little  office  then  newly  vacant 
(the  salary  I  think  hardly  £300),  whose  province  was  to 
inspect  the  timber  trees  in  his  majesty's  forests,  etc., 
and  take  care  of  their  culture  and  improvement ;  but 
this  was  conferred  upon  another,  who,  I  believe,  had 
seldom  been  out  of  the  smoke  of  London,  where,  though 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  timber,  there  were  not  many 
trees.  I  confess  I  had  an  inclination  to  the  employ 
ment  upon  a  public  account  as  well  as  its  being  suitable 
to  my  rural  genius,  born  as  I  was,  at  Watton,  among 
woods. 

"  Soon,  after  this,  happened  the  direful  conflagration 
of  this  city,  when,  taking  notice  of  our  want  of  books  of 
architecture  in  the  English  tongue,  I  published  those 
most  useful  directions  of  ten  of  the  best  authors  on  that 
subject,  whose  works  were  very  rarely  to  be  had,  all 
written  in  French,  Latin,  or  Italian,  and  so  not  intel 
ligible  to  our  mechanics.  What  the  fruit  of  that  labor 
and  cost  has  been,  (for  the  sculptures,  which  are  elegant, 
were  very  chargeable,)  the  great  improvement  of  our 
workmen  and  several  impressions  of  the  copy  since  will 
best  testify. 

"  In  this  method  I  thought  proper  to  begin  planting 
trges,  because  they  would  require  time  for  growth,  and 
be  advancing  to  delight  and  shade  at  least,  and  were, 
therefore,  by  no  means  to  be  neglected  and  deferred, 


MAT.  65 

while  buildings  might  be  raised  and  finished  in  a  sum 
mer  or  two,  if  the  owner  pleased. 

"  Thus,  Madam,  I  endeavored  to  do  my  countrymen 
some  little  service,  in  as  natural  an  order  as  I  could  for 
the  improving  and  adorning  of  their  estates  and  dwell 
ings,  and,  if  possible,  make  them  in  love  -with  those 
useful  and  innocent  pleasures,  in  exchange  for  a  waste 
ful  and  ignoble  sloth  which  I  had  observed  so  univer 
sally  corrupted  an  ingenious  education. 

"  To  these  I  likewise  added  my  little  history  of  Chal 
cography,  a  treatise  of  the  perfection  of  painting  and 
of  libraries,  medals,  with  some  other  intermesses  which 
might  divert  within  doors  as  well  as  altogether  with 
out," 


PASTORALS. 

SATURDAY,  8. 

False  were  the  muse,  did  she  not  bring 

Our  village  poet's  offering  — 

Haunts,  fields,  and  groves,  weaving  his  rhymes, 

Leaves  verse  and  fame  to  coming  times. 

IS  it  for  the  reason  that  rural  life  here  in  New  Eng 
land  furnishes  nothing  for  pastoral  verse,  that  our 
poets  have  as  yet  produced  so  little  ?  Yet  we  cannot 
have  had  almost  three  centuries'  residence  on  this  side  of 
the  Atlantic,  with  old  England's  dialect,  traditions,  and 
customs  still  current  in  our  rural  districts  for  perspective, 


66  CONCOED  DAYS. 

not  to  have  so  adorned  life  and  landscape  with  poetic 
associations  as  to  have  neither  honey  nor  dew  for  hiving 
in  sweet  and  tender  verse,  though  it  should  fall  short 
of  the  antique  or  British  models.  Our  fields  and  rivers, 
brooks  and  groves,  the  rural  occupations  of  country 
folk,  have  not  been  undeserving  of  being  celebrated  in 
appropriate  verse.  Our  forefathers  delighted  in  Revo 
lutionary  lore.  We  celebrate  natural  scenery,  legends 
of  foreign  climes,  historic  events,  but  rarely  indulge  in 
touches  of  simple  country  life.  Anc\  the  idyls  of  New 
England  await  their  poet,  unless  the  following  verses 
announce  his  arrival :  — 

NEW  ENGLAND. 

"  My  country,  'tis  for  thee  I  strike  the  lyre ; 
My  country,  wide  as  is  the  free  wind's  flight, 
I  prize  New  England  as  she  lights  her  fire 
In  every  Prairie's  midst;  and  where  the  bright 
Enchanting  stars  shine  pure  through  Southern  night, 
She  still  is  there  the  guardian  on  the  tower, 
To  open  for  the  world  a  purer  hour. 

"  Could  they  but  know  the  wild  enchanting  thrill 
That  in  our  homely  houses  fills  the  heart, 
To  feel  how  faithfully  New  England's  will 
Beats  in  each  artery,  and  each  small  part 
Of  this  great  Continent,  their  blood  would  start 
In  Georgia,  or  where  Spain  once  sat  in  state, 
Or  Texas,  with  her  lone  star,  desolate. 

"  'T  is  a  New-England  thought,  to  make  this  land 
The  very  home  of  Freedom,  and  the  nurse 


MAY.  67 

"  Of  each  sublime  emotion ;  she  does  stand 
Between  the  sunny  South,  and  the  dread  curse 
Of  God,  who  else  should  make  her  hearse 
Of  condemnation  to  this  Union's  life,  — 
She  stands  to  heal  this  plague,  and  banish  strife. 

"  I  do  not  sing  of  this,  but  hymn  the  day 
That  gilds  our  cheerful  villages  and  plains, 
Our  hamlets  strewn  at  distance  on  the  way, 
Our  forests  and  the  ancient  streams'  domains ; 
We  are  a  band  of  brothers,  and  our  pains 
Are  freely  shared ;  no  beggar  in  our  roads, 
Content  and  peace  within  our  fair  abodes. 

"  In  my  small  cottage  on  the  lonely  hill, 
Where  like  a  hermit  I  must  bide  my  time, 
Surrounded  by  a  landscape  lying  still 
All  seasons  through  as  in  the  winters'  prime, 
Rude  and  as  homely  as  these  verses  chime, 
I  have  a  satisfaction  which  no  king 
Has  often  felt,  if  Fortune's  happiest  thing. 

"  'T  is  not  my  fortune,  which  is  meanly  low, 
'Tis  not  my  merit  that  is  nothing  worth, 
'T  is  not  that  I  have  stores  of  thought  below 
Which  everywhere  should  build  up  heaven  on  earth; 
Nor  was  I  highly  favored  in  my  birth ; 
Few  friends  have  I,  and  they  are  much  to  me, 
Yet  fly  above  my  poor  society. 

"  But  all  about  me  live  New-England  men, 
Their  humble  houses  meet  my  daily  gaze,  — 
The  children  of  this  land  where  Life  again 
Flows  like  a  great  stream  in  sunshiny  ways, 
This  is  a  joy  to  know  them,  and  my  days 


68  CONCOKD  DAYS. 

Are  filled  with  love  to  meditate  on  them,  — 
These  native  gentlemen  on  Nature's  hem. 

"  That  I  could  take  one  feature  of  their  life, 
Then  on  my  page  a  mellow  light  should  shine ; 
Their  days  are  holidays,  with  labor  rife, 
Labor  the  song  of  praise  that  sounds  divine, 
And  better,  far,  than  any  hymn  of  mine ; 
The  patient  Earth  sets  platters  for  their  food, 
Corn,  milk,  and  apples,  and  the  best  of  good. 

"  See  here  no  shining  scenes  for  artist's  eye, 
This  woollen  frock  shall  make  no  painter's  fame ; 
These  homely  tools  all  burnishing  deny ; 
The  beasts  are  slow  and  heavy,  still  or  tame ; 
The  sensual  eye  may  think  this  labor  lame ; 
'T  is  in  the  man  where  lies  the  sweetest  art, 
His  true  endeavor  in  his  earnest  part. 

"  He  meets  the  year  confiding;  no  great  throws, 
That  suddenly  bring  riches,  does  he  use, 
But  like  Thor's  hammer  vast,  his  patient  blows 
Vanquish  his  difficult  tasks,  he  does  refuse 
To  tread  the  path,  nor  know  the  way  he  views  ; 
No  sad  complaining  words  he  uttereth, 
But  draws  in  peace  a  free  and  easy  breath. 

"  This  man  takes  pleasure  o'er  the  crackling  fire, 
His  glittering  axe  subdued  the  monarch  oak, 
He  earned  the  cheerful  blaze  by  something  higher 
Than  pensioned  blows,  —  he  owned  the  tree  he  stroke, 
And  knows  the  value  of  the  distant  smoke 
When  he  returns  at  night,  his  labor  done, 
Matched  in  his  action  with  the  long  day's  sun. 


MAY.  69 


*'  I  love  these  homely  mansions,  and  to  me 
A  farmer's  house  seems  better  than  a  king's ; 
The  palace  boasts  its  art,  but  liberty 
And  honest  pride  and  toil  are  splendid  things ; 
They  carved  this  clumsy  lintel,  and  it  brings 
The  man  upon  its  front ;  Greece  hath  her  art,  — 
But  this  rude  homestead  shows  the  farmer's  heart. 

"  I  love  to  meet  him  on  the  frozen  road, 
How  manly  is  his  eye,  as  clear  as  air;  — 
He  cheers  his  beasts  without  the  brutal  goad, 
His  face  is  ruddy,  and  his  features  fair ; 
His  brave  good-day  sounds  like  an  honest  prayer ; 
This  man  is  in  his  place  and  feels  his  trust,  — 
'T  is  not  dull  plodding  through  the  heavy  crust. 

"  And  when  I  have  him  at  his  homely  hearth, 
"Within  his  homestead,  where  no  ornament 
Glows  on  the  mantel  but  his  own  true  worth, 
I  feel  as  if  within  an  Arab's  tent 
His  hospitality  is  more  than  meant ; 
I  there  am  welcome,  as  the  sunlight  is, 
I  must  feel  warm  to  be  a  friend  of  his. 


How  many  brave  adventures  with  the  cold, 
Built  up  the  cumberous  cellar  of  plain  stone ; 
How  many  summer  heats  the  bricks  did  mould, 
That  make  the  ample  fireplace,  and  the  tone 
Of  twice  a  thousand  winds  sing  through  the  zone 
Of  rustic  paling  round  the  modest  yard,  — 
These  are  the  verses  of  this  simple  bard. 


70  CONCOED  DATS. 

"  Who  sings  the  praise  of  Woman  in  our  clime? 
I  do  not  boast  her  beauty  or  her  grace ; 
Some  humble  duties  render  her  sublime, 
She  the  sweet  nurse  of  this  New-England  race, 
The  flower  upon  the  country's  sterile  face, 
The  mother  of  New  England's  sons,  the  pride 
Of  every  house  where  these  good  sons  abide. 

"  There  is  a  Roman  splendor  in  her  smile, 
A  tenderness  that  owes  its  depth  to  toil ; 
Well  may  she  leave  the  soft  voluptuous  wile 
That  forms  the  woman  of  a  softer  soil ; 
She  does  pour  forth  herself  a  fragrant  oil 
Upon  the  dark  austerities  of  Fate, 
And  make  a  garden  else  all  desolate. 

"  From  early  morn  to  fading  eve  she  stands, 
Labor's  best  offering  on  the  shrine  of  worth, 
And  Labor's  jewels  glitter  on  her  hands, 
To  make  a  plenty  out  of  partial  dearth, 
To  animate  the  heaviness  of  earth, 
To  stand  and  serve  serenely  through  the  pain, 
To  nurse  a  vigorous  race  and  ne'er  complain. 

"  New-England  women  are  New-England's  pride, 
'T  is  fitting  they  should  be  so,  they  are  free,  — 
Intelligence  doth  all  their  acts  decide, 
Such  deeds  more  charming  than  old  ancestry. 
I  could  not  dwell  beside  them,  and  not  be 
Enamored  of  them  greatly ;  they  are  meant 
To  charm  the  Poet,  by  their  pure  intent. 

"  A  natural  honest  bearing  of  their  lot, 
Cheerful  at  work,  and  happy  when  't  is  done ; 
They  shine  like  stars  within  the  humblest  cot, 


71 


And  speak  for  freedom  centred  all  in  one. 
From  every  river's  side  I  hear  the  son 
Of  some  New-England  woman  answer  me, 
'  Joy  to  our  Mothers,  who  did  mak«  us  free.' 

"  And  when  those  wanderers  turn  to  home  again, 
See  the  familiar  village,  and  the  street 
Where  they  once  frolicked,  they  are  less  than  men 
If  in  their  eyes  the  tear-drops  do  not  meet, 
To  feel  how  soon  their  mothers  they  shall  greet  : 
Sons  of  New  England  .have  no  dearer  day, 
Than  once  again  within  those  arms  to  lay. 

"  These  are  her  men  and  women  ;  this  the  sight 
That  greets  me  daily  when  I  pass  their  homes  ; 
It  is  enough  to  love,  it  throws  some  light 
Over  the  gloomiest  hours  ;  the  fancy  roams 
No  more  to  Italy  or  Greece  ;  the  loams 
Whereon  we  tread  are  sacred  by  the  lives 
Of  those  who  till  them,  and  our  comfort  thrives. 

"  Here  might  one  pass  his  days,  content  to  be 
The  witness  of  those  spectacles  alway  ; 
Bring  if  you  may  your  treasure  from  the  sea, 
My  pride  is  in  my  Townsmen,  where  the  day 
Rises  so  fairly  on  a  race  who  lay 
Their  hopes  on  Heaven  after  their  toil  is  o'er, 
Upon  this  rude  and  bold  New-England  shore. 

"  Vainly  ye  pine  woods  rising  on  the  height 
Should  lift  your  verdant  boughs  and  cones  aloft  ; 
Vainly  ye  winds  should  surge  around  in  might, 
Or  murmur  o'er  the  meadow  stanzas  soft; 
To  me  should  nothing  yield  or  lake  or  crost, 


72  CONCORD  DAYS. 

Had  not  the  figures  of  the  pleasant  scene 
Like  trees  and  fields  an  innocent  demean. 

"  I  feel  when  I  am  here  some  pride  elate, 
Proud  of  your  presence  who  do  duty  here, 
For  I  am  some  partaker  of  your  fate, 
Your  manly  anthem  vibrates  in  my  ear ; 
Your  hearts  are  heaving  unconsumed  by  fear ; 
Your  modest  deeds  are  constantly  supplied ; 
Your  simpler  truths  by  which  you  must  abide. 

"  Therefore  I  love  a  cold  and  flinty  realm, 
I  love  the  sky  that  hangs  New  England  o'er, 
And  if  I  were  embarked,  and  at  the  helm 
I  ran  my  vessel  on  New  England's  shore, 
And  dashed  upon  her  crags,  would  live  no  more, 
Rather  than  go  seek  those  lands  of  graves 
Where  men  who  tread  the  fields  are  cowering  slaves.' 

W.  ELLERY  CHANGING. 


CONVERSATION. 

MONDAY,  17. 

IF  one  would  learn  the  views  of  some  of  our  most 
thoughtful  New-England  men  and  women,  he  will 
find  their  fullest  and  freshest  expression  in  the  discussions 
of  the  Radical  Club.  Almost  every  extreme  of  Liberal 
ism  is  there  represented,  and  its  manners  and  methods 
are  as  various  as  the  several  members  who  take  part  in 
the  readings  and  conversations.  It  is  assumed  that  all 
subjects  proposed  for  discussion  are  open  to  the  freest 
consideration,  and  that  each  is  entitled  to  have  the 


MAY.  73 

widest  scope  and  hospitality  allowed  it.  Truth  is 
spherical,  and  seen  differently  according  to  the  culture, 
temperament,  and  disposition  of  those  who  survey  it 
from  their  individual  standpoint.  Of  two  or  more  sides, 
none  can  be  absolutely  right,  and  conversation  fails 
if  it  find  not  the  central  truth  from  which  all  radiate. 
Debate  is  angular,  conversation  circular  and  radiant  of 
the  underlying  unity.  Who  speaks  deeply  excludes  all 
possibility  of  controversy.  His  affirmation  is  self-suffi 
cient  :  his  assumption  final,  absolute. 

Yes,  yes,  I  see  it  must  be  so, 
The  Yes  alone  resolves  the  No. 

Thus  holding  himself  above  the  arena  of  dispute,  he 
gracefully  settles  a  question  by  speaking  so  home  to 
the  core  of  the  matter  as  to  undermine  the  premise  upon 
which  an  issue  had  been  taken.  For  whoso  speaks  to 
the  Personality  drives  beneath  the,  grounds  of  difference, 
and  deals  face  to  face  with  principles  and  ideas.* 

*  "  Dialectics  treat  of  pure  thought  and  of  the  method  of  arriving  at  it.  A 
current  misapprehension  on  the  subject  of  dialectics  here  presents  itself. 
Most  people  understand  it  to  mean  argument,  and  they  believe  that  truths 
may  be  arrived  at  and  held  by  euch  argument  placed  in  due  logical  form. 
They  demand  the  proof  of  an  assertion,  and  imply  something  of  weakness 
in  the  reasoning  power  in  those  who  fail  to  give  this.  It  is  well  to  under 
stand  what  proof  means.  Kant  has  shown  us  in  his  Critique  of  Pure  Reason, 
that  the  course  of  all  such  ratiocination  is  a  movement  in  a  circle.  One 
assumes  in  his  premises  what  he  wishes  to  prove,  and  then  unfolds  it  as  the 
result.  The  assumptions  are  in  nil  cases  mere  aides  of  antinomies  or  oppo 
site  theses,  each  of  which  has  validity  and  may  be  demonstrated  against  the 
other.  Thus  the  debater  moves  round  and  round  and  presupposes  one-sided 
premises  which  must  be  annulled  before  he  can  be  in  a  state  to  perceive  the 
4 


74  CONCOED  DAYS. 

Good  discourse  sinks  differences  and  seeks  agree 
ments.  It  avoids  argument,  by  finding  a  common 
basis  of  agreement ;  and  thus  escapes  controversy,  by 
rendering  it  superfluous.  Pertinent  to  the  platform, 
debate  is  out  of  place  in  the  parlor.  Persuasion  is  the 
better  weapon  in  this  glittering  game. 

Nothing  rarer  than  great  conversation,  nothing  more 
difficult  to  prompt  and  guide.  Like  magnetism,  it 
obeys  its  own  hidden  laws,  sympathies,  antipathies,  is 
sensitive  to  the  least  breath  of  criticism.  It  requires 
natural  tact,  a  familiarity  with  these  fine  laws,  long 
experience,  a  temperament  predisposed  to  fellowship, 
to  hold  high  the  discourse  by  keeping  the  substance  of 

truth.  Argument  of  this  kind  the  accomplished  dialectician  never  engages 
in  ;  it  is  simply  egotism  when  reduced  to  its  lowest  terms.  The  question 
assumed  premises  that  were  utterly  inadmissible. 

"  The  process  of  true  proof  does  not  proceed  in  the  manner  of  argumenta 
tion  ;  it  does  not  assume  its  whole  result  in  its  premises,  which  are  propo 
sitions  of  reflection,  and  then  draw  them  out  syllogistically.  Speculative 
truth  is  never  contained  analytically  in  any  one  or  in  all  of  such  propo 
sitions  of  reflection.  It  is  rather  the  negative  of  them,  and  hence  is  tran 
scendent  in  its  entire  procedure.  It  rises  step  hy  step,  synthetically,  through 
the  negation  of  the  principle  assumed  at  the  beginning,  until,  finally,  the  pre 
supposition  of  all  is  reached.  It  is  essentially  a  going  from  the  part  to  the 
whole.  Whatever  is  seized  by  the  dialectic  is  turned  on  its  varied  sides,  and 
careful  note  is  made  of  its  defects,  i.  e.  what  it  lacks  within  itself  to  make 
it  possible.  That  which  it  implies  is  added  to  it,  as  belonging  to  its  totality, 
and  thus  onward  progress  is  made  until  the  entire  comprehension  of  its 
various  phases  is  attained.  The  ordinary  analytic  proof  is  seen  to  be  shal 
low  after  more  or  less  experience  in  it.  The  man  of  insight  sees  that  it  is 
a  '  child's  play,  —  a  mere  placing  of  the  inevitable  dogmatism  a  step  or  two 
back  —  that  id  all.  Real  speculation  proceeds  synthetically  beyond  what  it 
finds  inadequate,  until  it  reaches  the  adequate.' n 

WM.  T.  HARRIS. 


MAY.  75 

things  distinctly  in  view  throughout  the  natural  wind 
ings  of  the  dialogue.  Many  can  argue,  not  many  con 
verse.  Real  humility  is  rare  everywhere  and  at  all 
times.  If  women  have  the  larger  share,  and  venture 
less  in  general  conversation,  it  may  be  from  the  less 
confidence,  not  in  themselves,  but  in  those  who  have 
hitherto  assumed  the  lead,  even  in  matters  more  spe 
cially  concerning  woman.  Few  men  are  diffident  enough 
to  speak  beautifully  and  well  on  the  finest  themes. 

Conversation  presupposes  a  common  sympathy  in  the 
subject,  a  great  equality  in  the  speakers  ;  absence  of 
egotism,  a  tender  criticism  of  what  is  spoken.  'Tis 
this  great  equality  and  ingenuousness  that  renders  this 
game  of  questions  so  charming  and  entertaining,  and 
the  more  that  it  invites  the  indefinable  complement  of 
sex.  Only  where  the  sexes  are  brought  into  sympathy, 
is  conversation  possible.  Where  women  are,  men  speak 
best ;  for  the  most  part,  below  themselves,  where  women 
are  not.  And  the  like  holds  presumably  of  companies 
composed  solely  of  women. 

Good  discourse  wins  from  the  bashful  and  discreet 
what  they  have  to  speak,  but  would  not,  without  this 
provocation.  The  forbidding  faces  are  Fates  to  over 
bear  and  blemish  true  fellowship.  We  give  what 
we  are,  not  necessarily  what  we  know ;  nothing  more, 
nothing  less,  and  only  to  our  kind,  those  playing  best 
their  parts  who  have  the  nimblest  wits,  taking  out  the 
egotism,- the  nonsense;  putting  wisdom,  information, 
in  their  place.  Humor  to  dissolve,  and  wit  to  fledge 


76  CONCORD  DAYS. 

your  theme,  if  you  will  rise  out  of  commonplace ;  any 
amount  of  erudition,  eloquence  of  phrase,  scope  of 
comprehension ;  figure  and  symbol  sparingly  but 
fitly.  Who  speaks  to  the  eye,  speaks  to  the  whole 
mind. 

Most  people  are  too  exclusively  individual  for  con 
versing.  It  costs  too  great  expenditure  of  magnetism 
to  dissolve  them ;  who  cannot  leave  himself  out  of 
his  discourse,  but  embarrasses  all  who  take  part  in  it. 
Egotists  cannot  converse,  they  talk  to  themselves  only. 

Conversation  with  plain  people  proves  more  agreea 
ble  and  profitable,  usually,  than  with  companies  more 
pretentious  and  critical.  It  is  wont  to  run  the  deeper 
and  stronger  without  impertinent  interruptions,  inevi 
table  where  cultivated  egotism  and  self-assurance  are 
present  with  such.  There  remains  this  resource,  of 
ignoring  civilly  the  interruption,  and  proceeding  as  if 
tjie  intrusion  had  not  been  interposed. 

"  Oft  when  the  wise 
Appears  not  wise,  he  works  the  greater  good." 

"  Never  allow  yourself,"  said  Goethe,  "  to  be  betrayed 
into  a  dispute.  Wise  men  fall  into  ignorance  if  they 
dispute  with  ignorant  men."  Persuasion  is  the  finest 
artillery.  It  is  the  unseen  guns  that  do  execution 
without  smoke  or  tumult.  If  one  cannot  win  by  force 
of  wit,  without  cannonade  of  abuse,  flourish  of  trumpet, 
he  is  out  of  place  in  parlors,  ventures  where  he  can 
neither  forward  nor  grace  fellowship.  The  great  themes 


MAT.  77 

are  feminine,  and  to  be  dealt  with  delicately.     Debate 
is  masculine  ;  conversation  is  feminine. 

Here  is  a  piece  of  excellent  counsel  from  Plotinus  :  — 
"  And  this  may  everywhere  be  considered,  that  he 
who  pursues  our  form  of  philosophy,  will,  besides  all 
other  graces,  genuinely  exhibit  simple  and  venerable 
manners,  in  conjunction  with  the  possession  of  wisdom, 
and  will  endeavor  not  to  become  insolent  or  proud, 
but  will  possess  confidence,  accompanied  with  reason, 
with  sincerity  and  candor,  and  great  circumspection." 


H 


MARGARET   FULLER. 

THURSDAY,  20. 

GRACE  GREELEY  has  just  issued  from  the 
Tribune  "  office  a  uniform  edition  of  Margaret 
Fuller's  works,  together  with  her  Memoirs  first  published 
twenty  years  ago.  And  now,  while  woman  is  the  theme 
of  public  discussion,  her  character  and  writings  may  be 
studied  to  advantage.  The  sex  has  had  no  abler  advo 
cate.  Her  book  entitled  "Woman  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century  "  anticipated  most  of  the  questions  now  in  the 
air,  and  the  leaders  in  the  movement  for  woman's  wel 
fare  might  take  its  counsels  as  the  text  for  their  action. 
Her  methods,  too,  suggest  the  better  modes  of  influence. 
That  she  wrote  books  is  the  least  of  her  merits.  She 
was. greatest  when  she  dropped  her  pen.  She  spoke 
best  what  others  essayed  to  say,  and  what  women 


78  CONCOED  DATS. 

speak  best.  Hers  was  a  glancing  logic  that  leaped 
straight  to  the  sure  conclusion  ;  a  sibylline  intelligence 
that  divined  oracularly  ;  knew  by  anticipation  ;  in  the 
presence  always,  the  open  vision.  Alas,  that  so  much 
should  have  been  lost  to  us,  and  this  at  the  moment 
when  it  seemed  we  most  needed  and  could  profit 
by  it !  Was  it  some  omen  of  that  catastrophe  which 
gave  her  voice  at  times  the  tones  of  a  sadness  almost 
preternatural  ?  What  figure  were  she  now  here  in  times 
and  triumphs  like  ours  I  She  seemed  to  have  divined 
the  significance  of  woman,  dared  where  her  sex  had 
hesitated  hitherto,  was  gifted  to  untie  social  knots  which 
the  genius  of  a  Plato  even  failed  to  disentangle. 
"  Either  sex  alone,"  he  said,  "  was  but  half  itself."  Yet 
he  did  not  complement  the  two  in  honorable  marriage 
in  his  social  polity.  "  If  a  house  be  rooted  in  wrong," 
says  Euripides,  "  it  will  blossom  in  vice."  As  the  oak  is 
cradled  in  the  acorn's  cup,  so  the  state  in  the  family. 
Domestic  licentiousness  saps  every  institution,  the 
morals  of  the  community  at  large,  —  a  statement  trite 
enough,  but  till  it  is  no  longer  needful  to  be  made  is  the 
commonwealth  established  on  immovable  foundations. 

"Revere  no  God  whom  men  adore  by  night." 

Let  the  sexes  be  held  to  like  purity  of  morals,  and 
equal  justice  meted  to  them  for  any  infraction  of  the 
laws  of  social  order.  Women  are  the  natural  leaders 
of  society  in  whatever  concerns  private  morals,  lead 
where  it  were  safe  for  men  to  follow.  About  the  like 


NAY.  9 

number  as  of  men,  doubtless,  possess  gifts  to  serve  the 
community  at  large  ;  while  most  women,  as  most  men, 
will  remain  private  citizens,  fulfilling  private  duties. 
Her  vote  as  such  will  tell  for  personal  purity,  for  honor, 
temperance,  justice,  mercy,  peace,  —  the  domestic  vir 
tues  upon  which  communities  are  founded,  and  in  which 
they  must  be  firmly  rooted  to  prosper  and  endure.  The 
unfallen  souls  are  feminine  . 

Crashaw's  Ideal  Woman  should  win  the  love   and 
admiration  of  her  sex  as  well  as  ours. 


"  Whoe'er  she  be 
That  not  impossible  she 
That  shall  command  my  heart  and  me ; 

"  Where'er  she  lie 
Lock'd  up  from  mortal  eye 
In  shady  leaves  of  destiny ; 

"  Till  that  ripe  birth 

Of  studied  fate  stand  forth, 

And  teach  her  fair  steps  to  our  earth : 

"  Till  that  divine 
Idea  take  a  shrine 
Of  crystal  flesh,  through  which  to  shine, 

"  Meet  you  her  my  wishes, 
Bespeak  her  to  my  blisses, 
And  be  ye  called  my  absent  kisses. 


80  CONCOED  DAYS. 

11 1  wish  her  beauty 
That  owes  not  all  its  duty 
To  gaudy  tire,  or  glistening  shoe-ty. 

"  Something  more  than 
Taffata  or  tissue  can, 
Or  rampant  feather,  or  rich  fan. 

"  More  than  the  spoil 
Of  shop,  or  silkworm's  toil, 
Or  a  bought  blush,  or  a  set  smile. 

"  A  face  that 's  best 
By  its  own  beauty  drest, 
And  can  alone  command  the  rest. 

"  A  face  made  up 
Out  of  no  other  shop 
Than  what  nature's  white  hand  sets  ope. 

"  A  cheek  where  youth 
And  blood,  with  pen  of  truth, 
"Write  what  the  reader  sweetly  rueth. 

"  A  cheek  where  grows 
More  than  a  morning  rose, 
Which  to  no  box  his  being  owes. 

"  Lips,  where  all  day 
A  lover's  kiss  may  play, 
Yet  carry  nothing  thence  away. 

"  Looks,  that  oppress 
Their  richest  tires,  but  dress 
And  clothe  their  simplest  nakedness. 


MAT.  81 

"  Eyes,  that  displaces 
The  neighbor  diamond  and  out-faces 
That  sunshine  by  their  own  sweet  graces. 

"  Tresses,  that  wear 
Jewels,  but  to  declare 
How  much  themselves  more  precious  are. 

**  Whose  native  ray 
Cau  tame  the  wanton  day 
Of  gems  that  in  their  bright  shades  play. 

"  Each  ruby  there, 
Or  pearl  that  dare  appear, 
Be  its  own  blush,  be  its  own  tear. 

"  A  well-tamed  heart, 
For  whose  more  noble  smart 
Love  may  be  long  choosing  a  dart. 

41  Eyes,  that  bestow 
Full  quivers  on  Love's  bow, 
Yet  pay  less  arrows  than  they  owe. 

"  Smiles,  that  can  warm 
The  blood,  yet  teach  a  charm 
That  chastity  shall  take  no  harm. 

"  Blushes,  that  been 
The  burnish  of  no  sin, 
Nor  flames  of  aught  too  hot  within. 

"  Days,  that  need  borrow 
No  part  of  their  good  morrow 
From  a  fore-spent  night  of  sorrow. 
6 


82  CONCORD  DAYS. 

"  Days,  that  in  spite 
Of  darkness,  by  the  light 
Of  a  clear  mind  are  day  all  night. 

"  Life,  that  dares  send 
A  challenge  to  his  end, 
And  when  it  comes  say,  *  Welcome,  friend.' 

"  Sydneian  showers 
Of  sweet  discourse,  whose  powers 
Can  crown  old  Winter's  head  with  flowers. 

"  Soft  silken  hours, 
Open  suns,  shady  bowers, 
'Bove  all,  nothing  within  that  lowers. 
/ 

"  Whate'er  delight 
Can  make  day's  forehead  bright, 
Or  give  down  to  the  wings  of  night. 

"  In  her  whole  frame, 
Have  nature  all  the  name, 
Art  and  ornament  the  shame. 

"  Her  flattery, 
Picture  and  poesy, 
Her  counsel  her  own  virtue  be. 

"  I  wish  her  store 
Of  worth  may  leave  her  poor 
Of  wishes ;  and  I  wish  —  no  more." 


MAT.  83 


M 


CHILDHOOD. 

SCNDAY,  23. 

Y  little  grandsons  visit  me  at  this  becoming  sea 
son  of  birds  and  apple  blossoms.  They  accom 
pany  me  to  the  brook,  and  are  pleased  with  their  willow 
whistles  and  sail-boats,  —  toys  delightful  to  childhood 
from  the  first.  Their  manners,  that  first  of  accomplish 
ments,  delight  us  in  return,  showing  that  the  sense 
of  beauty  has  dawned  and  their  culture  fairly  begun. 
JT  is  a  culture  to  watch  them  through  their  days*  doings. 
Endless  their  fancies  and  engagements.  What  arts, 
accomplishments,  graces,  are  woven  in  their  playful 
panorama ;  the  scene  shifting  with  the  mood,  and  all  in 
keeping  with  the  laws  of  thought  and  of  things.  Verily, 
there  are  invisible  players  playing  their  parts  through 
these  pretty  puppets  all  day  long. 

To  conceive  a  child's  acquirements  as  originating  in 
nature,  dating  from  his  birth  into  his  body,  seems  an 
atheism  that  only  a  shallow  metaphysical  theology  could 
entertain  in  a  time  of  such  marvellous  natural  knowl 
edge  as  ours.  "  I  shall  never  persuade  myself,"  said 
Synesius,  "  to  believe  my  soul  to  be  of  like  age  with  rny 
body."  And  yet  we  are  wont  to  date  our  birth,  as  that 
of  the  babes  we  christen,  from  the  body's  advent  so 
duteously  inscribed  in  our  family  registers,  as  if  time 


84  CONCOED  DAYS. 

and  space  could  chronicle  the  periods  of  the  immortal 
mind,  and  mark  its  longevity  by  our  chronometers.* 
Only  a  God  could  inspire  a  child  with  the  intimations 
seen  in  its  first  pulse-plays  ;  the  sprightly  attainments 
of  a  single  day's  doings  afford  the  liveliest  proofs  of  an 
omniscient  Deity  revealing  his  attributes  in  the  motions 
of  the  little  one  !  Nor  is  maternity  less  a  special  inspi 
ration  throbbing  ceaselessly  with  childhood  as  a  pro 
tecting  Providence,  lifelong.  Comes  not  the  mother  to 
make  the  Creator's  word  sure  that  all  he  has  made  is 
verily  good?  For  without  mother  and  wife,  what  more 
than  a  rough  outline  of  divinity  were  drawn?  "That 
man,"  says  Euripides,  "  hath  made  his  fortune  who  hath 
married  a  good  wife."  For  what  would  some  of  us 
have  accomplished,  what  should  we  have  not  done,  mis- 
done,  without  her  counsels  to  temper  our  adventurous 
idealism  ?  Heaven  added  a  new  power  to  creation  when 
it  sent  woman  into  it  to  complete  what  He  had  designed. 

"  He  is  a  parricide  to  his  mother's  name, 

And  with  an  impious  hand,  murthers  her  fame, 
,          Who  wrongs  the  praise  of  woman ;  that  dares  write 
Libels  on  saints,  or  with  foul  ink  requite 
The  milk  they  lent  us." 

*  "  Infants,"  says  Olympiodorus, "  are  not  seen  to  laugh  for  some  time  after 
birth,  but  pass  the  greater  part  of  their  time  in  sleep;  however,  in  their 
sleep  they  appear  both  to  smile  and  cry.  But  can  this  any  otherwise  happen 
than  through  the  soul  agitating  the  circulations  of  their  animal  nature  in  con 
formity  with  the  passions  it  has  experienced  before  birth  into  the  body  ? 
Besides,  our  looking  into  ourselves  when  we  seek  to  discover  any  truth, 
shows  that  we  inwardly  contain  truth,  though  concealed  in  the  darkness  of 
oblivion."  Does  atom  animate  and  revive  thought,  or  thought  animate  and 
illuminate  atom  ?  And  which  the  elder  ? 


MAY.  85 

When  one  becomes  indifferent  to  women,  to  children 
and  young  people,  he  may  know  that  he  is  superan 
nuated,  and  has  withdrawn  from  whatsoever  is  sweetest 
and  purest  in  human  existence.  One  of  the  happiest 
rewards  of  age  is  the  enjoyment  of  children.  And- when 
these  inherit  one's  better  gifts  and  graces,  sinking  the 
worse,  or  omitting  them  altogether,  what  can  be  added 
to  fill  the  cup  of  parental  gratitude  and  delight?  I  fail 
to  comprehend  how  the  old  and  young  folks  are  to  en 
joy  a  future  heaven  together,  unless  they  have  learned 
to  partake  in  the  enjoyments  of  this.  Shall  we  picture 
future  separate  heavens  for  them? 

Sing,  sing,  the  immortals, 

The  ancients  of  days, 
Ever  crowding  the  portals 

Of  earth's  populous  ways ; 

The  babes  ever  stealing 
Into  Eden's  glad  feeling ; 
The  fore-world  revealing 
God's  face,  ne'er  concealing. 

Sing,  sing,  the  child's  fancies, 
Its  graces  and  glances, 
Plans,  pastimes,  surprises, 
Slips,  sorrows,  surmises. 

Youth's  trials  and  treasures, 
Its  hopes  without  measures, 


86  CONCORD  DATS. 

Its  labors  and  leisures ; 
His  world  all  before  him, 
High  heaven  all  o'er  him ; 
Life's  lengthening  story, 
Opening  glory  on  glory ; 
By  age  ne'er  o'ertaken, 
By  youth  near  forsaken. 

Sings  none  this  fair  story, 
But  dwellers  in  its  glory ; 
Who  would  the  youth  see, 
A  youth  he  must  be ; 
Heaven's  kingdom  alone 
To  children  doth  come. 

The  family  is  the  sensitive  plant  of  civility,  the  meas 
ure  of  culture.  Take  the  census  of  the  homes,  and  you 
have  the  sum  total  of  character  and  civilization  in  any 
community.  Sown  in  the  family,  the  seeds  of  holiness 
are  here  to  be  cherished  and  ripened  for  immortality. 
Here  is  the  seminary  of  the  virtues,  the  graces,  accom 
plishments,  that  adorn  and  idealize  existence.  From 
this  college  we  graduate  for  better  or  for  worse.  This 
faculty  of  the  affections,  this  drinking  freshly  at  the 
springs  of  genius  and  sensibility,  this  intimacy  with 
the  loveliest  and  best  in  life,  is  the  real  schooling,  the 
truest  discipline,  without  which  neither  mind  nor  heart 
flourish ;  all  other  advantages  being  of  secondary  ac 
count  ;  wealth,  wit,  beauty,  social  position,  books, 
travel,  fellowships,  are  but  sounding  names,  opportu- 


MAY.  87 

nities  of  inferior  importance,  compared  with  this  en 
dowment  of  personal  influences. 

Here,  in  this  atmosphere  of  love  and  sympathy, 
character  thrives  and  ripens.  And  were  the  skill  for 
touching  its  tender  sensibilities,  calling  forth  its  bud 
ding  gifts,  equal  to  the  charms  the  child  has  for  us, 
what  noble  characters  would  graduate  from  our  families, 
—  the  community  receiving  its  members  accomplished 
in  the  Personal  graces,  the  state  its  patriots,  the  church 
its  saints,  all  glorifying  the  race.  One  day  the  highest 
culture  of  the  choicest  gifts  will  be  deemed  essential  to 
the  heads  of  families,  and  the  arts  of  nurture  and  of 
culture  honored  as  the  art  of  arts. 

"  Boys  are  dear  to  divinity,"  dear  to  all  mankind. 
What  more  charming  than  to  watch  the  dawning  intel 
ligence,  clearing  itself  from  the  mists  which  obscure  its 
vision  of  the  world  into  which  it  has  but  lately  entered  ? 
The  more  attractive,  since  a  fine  sentiment  then  mingles 
mythically  with  the  freshness  of  thought,  confuses  the 
sexes,  as  if  the  boy  were  being  transformed  into  the 
girl,  first  entering  her  wider  world  of  affection  ;  and  the 
girl  in  turn  were  being  metamorphosed  into  the  boy, 
first  becoming  conscious  of  the  newer  world  of  intellect ; 
each  entering,  by  instinct,  into  the  mind  of  the  other. 
I  know  not  which  is  the  more  charming  each  in  their 
ways,  the  coy  manners  of  girls,  or  the  shy  behavior  of 
beautiful  boys,  —  mysteries  both  to  each  other,  nor  less 
to  their  elders.  *T  is  the  youthful  sentiment,  whether 
feminine  or  masculine,  that  renders  friendship  delight- 


00  CONCOED  DATS. 

ful,  the  world  lovely ;  this  gone,  all  is  gone  that  life 
can  enjoy.  "  There  are  periods  in  one's  life,"  says 
Pythagoras,  "  which  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  any  casual 
person  to  connect  finely,  these  being  expelled  by  one 
another,  unless  some  sympathetic  friend  conduct  him 
from  birth  in  a  beautiful  and  upright  manner." 


PYTHAGOKAS. 

Of  the  great  educators  of  antiquity,  I  esteem  Py 
thagoras  the  most  eminent  and  successful.  Every 
thing  of  his  doctrine  and  discipline  comes  commended 
by  its  elegance  and  humanity,  and  justifies  the  name  he 
bore  of  the  golden-souled  Samian,  and  founder  of  the 
Greek  culture.  He  seems  to  have  stood  in  providential 
nearness  to  the  human  sensibility,  as  if  his  were  a  ma 
ternal  relation  as  well,  and  he  owned  the  minds  whom 
he  nurtured  and  educated.  The  first  of  philosophers, 
taking  the  name  for  its  modesty  of  pretension,  he 
justified  his  claim  to  it  in  the  attainments  and  services 
of  his  followers  ;  his  school  having  given  us  Socrates, 
Plato,  Pericles,  Plutarch,  Plotinus,  and  others  of  almost 
equal  fame,  founders  of  states  and  cultures. 

He  was  most  fortunate  in  his  biographer.  For,  next 
to  the  Gospels,  I  know  of  nothing  finer  of  the  kind 
than  the  mythological  portrait  drawn  of  him  by  Jambli- 
chus,  his  admiring  disciple,  and  a  philosopher  worthy 
of  his  master.  How  mellow  the  coloring,  the  drapery 
disposed  so  gracefully  about  the  person  he  paints !  I 


MAY.  89 

look  upon  this  piece  of  nature  with  ever  fresh  delight,  so 
reverend,  humane,  so  friendly  in  aspect  and  Olympian. 
Nor  is  the  interest  less,  but  enhanced  rather  by  the 
interfusion  of  fable  into  the  personal  history,  the  charm 
of  a  subtle  idealism  being  thus  given  it,  relating  him 
thereby  to  the  sacred  names  of  all  times.  There  is  in 
him  an  Oriental  splendor,  as  of  sunrise,  reflected  on 
statues,  blooming  in  orchards,  an  ambrosial  beauty  and 
sweetness,  as  of  autumnal  fruits  and  of  women. 

"In  all  he  did, 
Some  picture  of  the  golden  times  was  hid." 

Personally,  he  is  said  to  have  been  the  most  beauti 
ful  and  godlike  of  all  those  who  had  been  celebrated  in 
history  before  his  time.  As  a  youth,  his  aspect  was 
venerable  and  his  habits  strictly  temperate,  so  that  he 
was  reverenced  and  honored  by  elderly  men.  He  at 
tracted  the  attention  of  all  who  saw  him,  and  appeared 
admirable  in  all  eyes.  He  was  adorned  by  piety  and 
discipline,  by  a  mode  of  life  transcendently  good,  by 
firmness  of  soul,  and  by  a  body  in  due  subjection  to 
the  mandates  of  reason.  In  all  his  words  and  actions, 
he  discovered  an  inimitable  quiet  and  serenity,  not 
being  subdued  at  any  time  by  anger,  emulation,  con 
tention,  or  any  precipitation  of  conduct.  He  was  rev 
erenced  by  the  multitude  as  one  under  the  influence  of 
divine  inspiration.  He  abstained  from  all  intoxicating 
drinks,  and  from  animal  food,  confining  himself  to  a 
chaste  nutriment.  Hence,  his  sleep  was  short  and 


90  CONCORD  DAYS. 

undisturbed,  his  soul  vigilant  and  pure,  his  body  in  a 
state  of  perfect  and  invariable  health.  He  was  free  from 
the  superstitions  of  his  time,  and  pervaded  with  a 
deep  sense  of"  duty  towards  God,  and  veneration  for  his 
divine  attributes  and  immanency  in  things.  He  fixed 
his  mind  so  intently  on  the  attainment  of  wisdom,  that 
systems  and  mysteries  inaccessible  to  others  were 
opened  to  him  by  his  magic  genius  and  sincerity  of 
purpose.  The  great  principle  with  which  he  started, 
that  of  being  a  seeker  rather  than  possessor  of  truth, 
seemed  ever  to  urge  him  forward  with  a  diligence  and 
an  activity  unprecedented  in  the  history  of  the  past, 
and  perhaps  unequalled  since.  He  visited  every  man 
who  could  claim  any  degree  of  fame  for  wisdom  or 
learning,  whilst  the  relics  of  antiquity  and  the  simplest 
operations  of  nature  seemed  to  yield  to  his  researches  ; 
and  we  moderns  are  using  his  eyes  in  many  departments 
of  activity  into  which  pure  thought  enters,  being  in 
debted  to  him  for  important  discoveries  alike  in  science 
and  metaphysics. 

"  His  institution  at  Crotona  was  the  most  comprehen 
sive  and  complete  of  any  of  which  we  read.  His  aim 
being  at  once  a  philosophical  school,  a  religious  brother 
hood,  and  a  political  association.  And  all  these  char 
acters  appear  to  have  been  inseparably  united  in  the 
founder's  mind.  It  must  be  considered  as  a  proof  of 
upright  intentions  in  Pythagoras  which  ought  to  rescue 
him  from  all  suspicion  of  selfish  motives,  that  he 
chose  for  his  associates  persons  whom  he  deemed 


MAY.  91 

capable  of  grasping  the  highest  truths  which  he  could 
communicate,  and  was  not  only  willing  to  teach  them 
all  he  knew,  but  regarded  the  utmost  cultivation  of  the 
intellectual  faculties  as  a  necessary  preparation  for  the 
work  to  which  he  destined  them.  He  instituted  a 
society,  an  order,  as  one  may  now  call  it,  composed  of 
young  men,  three  hundred  in  number,  carefully  selected 
from  the  noblest  families,  not  only  of  Crotona,  but  of 
the  other  Italian  cities. 

"  Those  who  confided  themselves  to  the  guidance  of 
his  doctrine  and  discipline,  conducted  themselves  in 
the  following  manner :  — 

"  They  performed  their  morning  walks  alone  in  places 
where  there  happened  to  be  an  appropriate  solitude  and 
quiet,  and  where  there  were  temples  and  groves,  and 
other  things  adapted  to  give  delight.  For  they  thought 
it  was  not  proper  to  converse  with  any  one  till  they  had 
rendered  their  own  soul  sedate  and  co-harmonized  with 
the  reasoning  power.  For  they  apprehended  it  to  be  a 
thing  of  a  turbulent  nature  to  mingle  in  a  crowd  as  soon 
as  they  rose  from  bed.  But  after  the  morning  walk, 
they  associated  with  each  other,  and  employed  them 
selves  in  discussing  doctrines  and  disciplines,  and  in 
the  correction  of  their  manners  and  lives. 

44  They  employed  their  time  after  dinner,  which  con 
sisted  of  bread  and  honey  without  wine,  in  domestic 
labors  and  economies,  and  in  the  hospitalities  due  to 
strangers  and  their  guests,  according  tovthe  laws.  All 
business  of  this  sort  was  transacted  during  these  hours 
of  the  day. 


92  CONCORD  DAYS. 

"  When  it  was  evening,  they  again  betook  themselves 
to  walking,  yet  not  singly  as  in  the  morning  walk,  but 
in  parties  of  two  or  three,  calling  to  mind,  as  they 
walked,  the  disciplines  which  they  had  learned,  and 
exercising  themselves  in  beautiful  studies. 

"  After  bathing  again,  they  went  to  supper  ;  no  more 
than  ten  meeting  together  for  this  purpose.  This  meal 
they  finished  before  the  setting  of  the  sun.  It  was  of 
wine  and  maize,  bread  and  salad.  They  were  of  opin 
ion  that  any  animal,  not  naturally  noxious  to  the  human 
race,  should  neither  be  injured  nor  slain. 

"  After  supper,  libations  were  performed  ;  and  these 
were  succeeded  by  readings,  the  youngest  reading,  and 
the  eldest  ordering  what  should  be  read  and  after  what 
manner. 

"  They  wore  a  white  and  pure  garment,  and  slept  on 
beds  the  coverlets  of  which  were  of  white  linen." 


M 


CONVERSATION  WITH    CHILDREN. 

4 

MONDAY,  24. 

Y  book  of  Conversations,  held  with  Children  in 
Boston    near  forty  years  ago,  has  found  an  ad 
miring  reader  at  last.     He  writes  :  — 

"  I  have  just  found  in  a  second-hand  bookstore  your 
two  volumes  of  Conversations  on  the  Gospels,  and  have 
read  them  with  benefit  and  delight.  Nowhere  have  I 
seen  the  Gospels  so  spiritualized,  so  rationalized, 


MAT.  93 

Platonized.  The  naivete  aside,  it  seems  the  product 
of  a  company  of  idealists.  Is  it  possible  that  common 
human  nature  in  children,  thrown  upon  its  own  re 
sources,  can  exhibit  such  intelligence,  or  instinct,  if 
you  please  to  call  it  so  ?  Were  these  children  taken  as 
they  came,  or  were  they  selected,  culled?" 

They  came  from  families  occupying  various  social 
advantages,  and  were  a  fair  average  of  children  thus 
born  and  bred.  I  give  a  sample  of  one  of  the  conver 
sations  as  reported  from  their  lips  at  the  time.  Their 
ages  were  from  six  to  twelve  years. 

CONVERSATION  ON   WORSHIP. 

Mr.  Alcott  read  (having  previously  read  the  begin 
ning)  the  remainder  of  the  Conversation  of  Jesus  with 
the  woman  of  Samaria  (John  iv.  16-30), — 

16.  Jesus  saith  unto  her,  Go  call  thy  husband,  and  come 
Either. 

17.  The  woman  answered  and  said,  I  have  no  husband. 
Jesus  said  unto  her,  Thou  hast  well  said  I  have  no  husband : 

18.  For  thou  hast  had  five  husbands,   and  he  whom  thou 
now  hast  is  not  thy  husband  :  in  that  saidst  thou  truly. 

19.  The  woman  said  unto  him,  Sir,  I  perceive  that  thou  art 
a  prophet. 

20.  On r  fathers  worshipped  in  this  mountain;  and  ye  say 
that  in  Jerusalem  is  the  place  where  men  ought  to  worship. 

21.  Jesus  saith  unto  her,  Woman,  believe  me,  the  hour 
cometh  when  ye  shall  neither  in  this  mountain,  nor  yet  at 
Jerusalem,  worship  the  Father. 

22.  Ye  worship  ye  know  not  what :  we  know  what  we  wor- 
fchip,  for  salvation  is  of  the  Jews. 


94  CONCORD  DAYS. 

23.  But  the  hour  coraeth,  and  now  is,  when  the  true  wor 
shippers  shall  worship  the  Father  in  spirit  and  in  truth  :  for 
the  father  seeketh  such  to  worship  him. 

24.  God  is  a  Spirit :  and  they  that  worship  him  must  wor 
ship  him  in  spirit  and  in  truth. 

25.  The  woman  saith  unto  him,  I  know  that  Messias  cometh, 
which  is  called  Christ ;  when  he  is  come,  he  will  tell  us  all 
things. 

26.  Jesus  saith  unto  her,  I  that  speak  unto  thee  am  he. 

27.  And  upon  this  came  his  disciples,  and  marvelled  that 
he  talked  with  the  woman :  yet  no  man  said,  What  seekest 
thou  ?  or,  Why  talkest  thou  with  her  ? 

28.  The  woman  then  left  her  water-pot,  and  went  her  way 
into  the  city,  and  saith  to  the  men, 

29.  Come,  see  a  man  which  told  me  all  things  that  ever  I 
did:  is  not  this  the  Christ? 

30.  Then  they  went  out  of  the  city,  and  came  unto  him. 

Before  he  had  time  to  ask  the  usual  question,  — 

SAMUEL  T.  (spoke).  I  was  most  interested  in  this 
verse  :  "  He  that  drinks  of  this  water  shall  thirst  again, 
but  he  that  drinks  of  the  water  that  I  shall  give  him, 
shall  never  thirst."  He  means  by  this,  that  those  who 
heard  what  he  taught,  and  did  it,  should  live  always, 
should  never  die,  their  spirits  should  never  die. 

Mil.  ALCOTT.     Can  spirits  die? 

SAMUEL  T.  For  a  spirit  to  die  is  to  leave  off  being 
good. 

EDWARD  J.  I  was  interested  in  the  words,  "  For 
the  water  I  shall  give  him  will  be  in  him  a  well  of 
water."  I  think  it  means  that  when  people  are  good 


MAT.  95 

and  getting  better,  it  is  like  water  springing  up  always. 
They  have  more  and  more  goodness. 

SAMUEL  R.     Water  is  an  emblem  of  holiness. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Water  means  spirit,  pure  and  un- 
soiled. 

EDWARD  J.     It  is  holy  spirit. 

ELLEN.  I  was  most  interested  in  these  words  :  "  Ye 
worship  ye  know  not  what."  The  Samaritans  worship 
idols,  and  there  was  no  meaning  to  that. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  What  do  you  mean  by  their  worship 
ping  idols? 

ELLEN.     They  cared  about  things  more  than  God. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  What  kind  of  false  worship  do  you 
think  Jesus  was  thinking  about  when  he  said  :  "  Woman, 
the  hour  is  coming  and  now  is,  when  neither  in  this 
mountain  —  "  ? 

ELLEN.  Oh !  she  thought  the  place  of  worship  was 
more  important  than  the  worship  itself. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Well!  how  did  Jesus  answer  that 
thought? 

ELLEN.  He  told  her  what  she  ought  to  worship, 
which  was  more  important  than  where. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Some  of  you,  perhaps,  have  made 
this  mistake,  and  thought  that  we  only  worshipped  God 
in  churches,  and  on  Sundays.  How  is  it,  —  who  has 
thought  so? 

(Several  held  up  Jiands,  smiling.) 

Who  knew  that  we  could  worship  God  anj'where  ? 

(Others  held  up  hands.) 

OF  THX^S! 


96  CONGOU D  DATS. 

What  other  worship  is  there  besides  that  in  the 
church  ? 

EDWARD  J.     The  worship  in  our  hearts. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     How  is  that  carried  on  ? 

EDWARD  J.    By  being  good. 

NATHAN.     We  worship  God  by  growing  better. 

AUGUSTINE.  We  worship  God  when  we  repent  of 
doing  wrong. 

JOSIAH.  I  was  most  interested  in  this  verse  :  "  God 
is  a  spirit,  and  they  that  worship  him  must  worship  him 
in  spirit  and  in  truth."  It  means  that  to  feel  our 
prayers  is  more  important  than  to  say  the  words. 

LEMUEL.     And  when  we  pray  and  pray  sincerely. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     What  is  praying  sincerely  ? 

LEMUEL.     Praying  the  truth. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  What  is  to  be  done  in  praying  the 
truth  ?  When  you  think  of  prayer,  do  you  think  of  a 
position  of  the  body  —  of  words  ? 

LEMUEL  (earnestly).  I  think  of  something  else,  but 
I  cannot  express  it. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Josiah  is  holding  up  his  hand ;  can 
he  express  it? 

JOSIAH  (burst  out) .  To  pray,  Mr.  Alcott,  is  to  be 
good,  really ;  you  know  it  is  better  to  be  bad  before 
people  and  to  be  good  to  God  alone,  because  then  we 
are  good  for  goodness  sake,  and  not  to  be  seen,  and  not 
for  people's  sake.  Well,  so  it  is  about  pra}rer.  There 
must  be  nothing  outward  with  prayer ;  but  we  must 
have  some  words,  sometimes  ;  sometimes  we  need  not. 


MAY.  97 

If  we  don't  feel  the  prayer,  it  is  worse  than  never  to 
saj  a  word  of  prayer.  It  is  wrong  not  to  pray,  but  it 
is  more  wrong  to  speak  prayer  and  not  pray.  We  had 
better  do  nothing  about  it,  Mr.  Alcott !  we  must  say 
words  in  a  prayer,  and  we  must  feel  the  words  we  say, 
and  we  must  do  what  belongs  to  the  words. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Oh!  there  must  be  doing,  must  there? 

JOSIAH.  Oh!  yes,  Mr.  Alcott!  doing  is  the  most 
important  part.  We  must  ask  God  for  help,  and  at  the 
same  time  try  to  do  the  thing  we  are  to  be  helped  about. 
If  a  boy  should  be  good  all  day,  and  have  no  tempta 
tion,  it  would  not  be  very  much ;  there  would  be  no 
improvement ;  but  if  he  had  temptation,  he  could  pray 
and  feel  the  prayer,  and  try  to  overcome  it,  and  would 
overcome  it ;  and  then  there  would  be  a  real  prayer 
and  a  real  improvement.  That  would  be  something. 
Temptation  is  always  necessary  to  a  real  prayer,  I  think. 
I  don't  believe  there  is  ever  any  real  prayer  before 
there  is  a  temptation  ;  because  we  may  think  and  feel 
and  say  our  prayer ;  but  there  cannot  be  any  doing, 
without  there  is  something  to  be  done. 

Mu.  ALCOTT.  Well,  Josiah,  that  will  do  now.  Shall 
some  one  else  speak? 

JOSIAH.     Oh,  Mr.  Alcott,  I  have  not  half  done ! 

EDWARD  J.  Mr.  Alcott,  what  is  the  use  of  respond 
ing  in  church  ? 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Cannot  you  tell  ? 

EDWARD  J.     No  ;  I  never  knew. 

JOSIAH.     Oh  !  Mr.  Alcott ! 
5 


98  CONCORD  DAYS. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Well,  Josiah,  do  you  know? 

JOSIAH.  Why,  Edward  !  is  it  not  just  like  a  mother's 
telling  her  child  the  words  ?  The  child  wants  to  pray ; 
it  don't  know  how  to  express  its  real  thoughts,  as  we 
often  say  to  Mr.  Alcott  here ;  and  the  mother  says 
words,  and  the  child  repeats  after  her  the  words. 

EDWARD  J.     Yes  ;  but  I  don't  see  what  good  it  does. 

JOSIAH.  What !  if  the  mother  says  the  words,  and 
the  child  repeats  them  and  feels  them,  —  really  wants 
the  things  that  are  prayed  for,  —  can't  you  see  that  it 
does  some  good? 

EDWARD  J.  It  teaches  the  word-prayer  —  it  is  not 
the  real  prayer. 

JOSIAH.  Yet  it  must  be  the  real  prayer,  and  the  real 
prayer  must  have  some  words. 

But,  Mr.  Alcott,  I  think  it  would  be  a  great  deal 
better,  if,  at  church,  everybody  prayed  for  themselves. 
I  don't  see  why  one  person  should  pray  for  all  the  rest. 
Why  could  not  the  minister  pray  for  himself,  and  the 
people  pray  for  themselves  ?  and  why  should  not  all 
communicate  their  thoughts?  Why  should  only  one 
speak  ?  Why  should  not  all  be  preachers  ?  Everybody 
could  say  something ;  at  least,  everybody  could  say 
their  own  prayers,  for  they  know  what  they  want. 
Every  person  knows  the  temptations  they  have,  and 
people  are  tempted  to  do  different  things.  Mr.  Alcott, 
I  think  Sunday  ought  to  come  oftener. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Our  hearts  can  make  all  time  Sunday. 

JOSIAH.     Why,  then,  nothing  could  be  done  !     There 


MAY.  99 

must  he  week-days,  I  know  —  some  week-days  ;  I  said, 
Sunday  oftener. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  But  you  wanted  the  prayers  to  be 
doing  prayers.  Now  some  of  the  rest  may  tell  me, 
how  you  could  pray  doing  prayers. 

GEORGE  K.  Place  is  of  no  consequence.  I  think 
prayer  is  in  our  hearts.  Christian  prayed  in  the  cave 
of  Giant  Despair.  We  can  pray  anywhere,  because  we 
can  have  faith  anywhere. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Faith,  then,  is  necessary? 

GEORGE  K.  Yes ;  for  it  is  faith  that  makes  the 
prayer.  * 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Suppose  an  instance  of  prayer  in 
yourself. 

GEORGE  K.     I  can  pray  going  to  bed  or  getting  up. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     You  are  thinking  of  time,  place,  words. 

GEORGE  K.     And  feelings  and  thoughts. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     And  action? 

GEORGE  K.     Yes  ;  action  comes  after. 

JOHN  B.  When  we  have  been  doing  wrong  and  are 
sorry,  we  pray  to  God  to  take  away  the  evil. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     What  evil,  the  punishment? 

JOIIN  B.     No  ;  we  want  the  forgiveness. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  What  is  for-give-ness  ?  Is  it  an37thing 
given  ? 

LEMUEL.     Goodness,  holiness. 

JOHN  B.     And  the  evil  is  taken  away. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Is  there  any  action  in  all  this  ? 

JOHN  B.     Why,  yes  ;  there  is  thought  and  feeling. 


100  COXCOBD   DATS. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  But  it  takes  the  body  also  to  act ; 
what  do  the  hands  do  ? 

JOHN  B.     There  is  no  prayer  in  the  hands. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  You  have  taken  something  that  be 
longs  to  another  ;  you  pray  to  be  forgiven  ;  you  wish 
not  to  do  so  again  ;  you  are  sorry.  Is  there  anything 
to  do? 

JOHN  B.  If  you  injure  anybody,  and  can  repair  it, 
you  must,  and  you  will,  if  you  have  prayed  sincerely  ; 
but  that  is  not  the  prayer. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Would  the  prayer  be  complete  with 
out  it? 

JOHN  B.     No. 

ANDREW.     Prayer  is  in  the  spirit. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Does  the  body  help  the  spirit  ? 

ANDREW.     It  don't  help  the  prayer. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Don't  the  lips  move  ? 

ANDREW.  But  have  the  lips  anything  to  do  with 
the  prayer? 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Yes ;  they  may.  The  whole  nature 
may  act  together  ;  the  body  pray  ;  and  I  want  you  to 
tell  an  instance  of  a  prayer  in  which  are  thoughts,  feel 
ings,  action ;  which  involves  the  whole  nature,  body 
and  all.  There  may  be  prayer  in  the  palms  of  our  hands. 

ANDREW.  Wh}7",  if  I  had  hurt  anybody,  and  was 
sorry  and  prayed  to  be  forgiven,  I  suppose  I  should 
look  round  for  some  medicine  and  try  to  make  it  well. 

(Mir.  Alcott  here  spoke  of  the  connection  of  the  mind 
with  the  body,  in  order  to  make  his  meaning  clearer.) 


MAT.  101 

SAMUEL  R.  If  I  had  a  bad  habit,  and  should  ask 
God  for  help  to  break  it ;  and  then  should  try  so  as 
really  to  break  it,  that  would  be  a  pra3rer. 

CHARLES.  Suppose  I  saw  a  poor  beggar  boy  hurt  or 
sick,  and  all  bleeding  ;  and  I  had  very  nice  clothes,  and 
was  afraid  to  soil  them,  or  from  any  such  cause  should 
pass  him  by,  and  by  and  by  I  should  look  back  and 
see  another  boy  helping  him,  and  should  be  really  sorry 
and  pray  to  be  forgiven,  that  would  be  a  real  prayer ; 
but  if  I  had  done  the  kindness  at  the  time  of  it,  that 
would  have  been  a  deeper  prayer. 

AUGUSTINE.  When  anybody  has  done  wrong,  and 
does  not  repent  for  a  good  while,  but  at  last  repents 
and  prays  to  be  forgiven,  it  may  be  too  late  to  do  any 
thing  about  it ;  yet  that  might  be  a  real  prayer. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Imagine  a  real  doing  prayer  in  your 
life. 

LUCIA.  Suppose,  as  I  was  going  home  from  school, 
some  friend  of  mine  should  get  angry  with  me,  and 
throw  a  stone  at  me  ;  I  could  pray  not  to  be  tempted  to 
do  the  same,  to  throw  a  stone  at  her,  and  would  not. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  And  would  the  not  doing  anything  in 
that  case  be  a  prayer  and  an  action?  Keeping  your 
body  still  would  be  the  body's  part  of  it. 

LUCIA.     Yes. 

ELLEN.  I  heard  a  woman  say,  once,  that  she  could 
pray  best  when  she  was  at  work ;  that  when  she  was 
scouring  the  floor  she  would  ask  God  to  cleanse  her 
mind. 


102  CONCOED  DAYS. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  I  will  now  vary  my  question.  Is  there 
any  prayer  in  Patience  ? 

ALL.     A  great  deal. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     In  Impatience? 

ALL.     No  ;  not  any. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     In  Doubt? 

GEORGE  K.     No  ;  but  in  Faith. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     In  Laziness  ? 

ALL  (but  Josiah).     No  ;  no  kind  of  prayer. 

JOSIAH.  I  should  think  that  Laziness  was  the  prayer 
of  the  body,  Mr.  Alcott. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Yes  ;  it  seems  so.  The  body  tries  to 
be  still  more  body  ;  it  tries  to  get  down  into  the  clay  ; 
it  tries  to  sink ;  but  the  spirit  is  always  trying  to  lift  it 
up  and  make  it  do  something. 

EDWARD  J.  Lazy  people  sometimes  have  passions 
that  make  them  act. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Yes ;  they  act  downwards.  Is  there 
any  prayer  in  Disobedience  ? 

ALL.     No. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Is  there  any  in  submission?  In  for 
bearing  when  injured?  In  suffering  for  a  good  object? 
In  self-sacrifice? 

ALL  (eagerty  to  each  question).  Yes.  Yes.  Yes. 
Yes. 

(Mr.  Alcott  here  made  some  very  interesting  remarks 
on  loving  God  with  all  our  heartj  soul,  mind,  etc.,  and 
the  Idea  of  Devotion  it  expressed.  Josiah  wanted  to 
speak  constantly,  but  Mr.  Alcott  checked  7wm,  that  the 


MAY.  103 

others  might  have  opportunity,  though  the  latter  wished 
to  yield  to  Josiah.) 

JOSIAII  (burst  out).  Mr.  Alcott !  you  know  Mrs. 
Barbauld  says  in  her  hymns,  everything  is  prayer ; 
every  action  is  prayer;  all  nature  prays;  the  bird 
prays  in  singing  ;  the  tree  prays  in  growing  ;  men  pray ; 
men  can  pray  more ;  we  feel ;  we  have  more  —  more 
than  nature ;  we  can  know  and  do  right ;  Conscience 
prays  ;  all  our  powers  pray  ;  action  prays.  Once  we 
said  here,  that  there  was  a  u  Christ  in  the  bottom  of 
our  spirits  "  when  we  try  to  be  good ;  then  we  pray  in 
Christ ;  and  that  is  the  whole.* 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Yes,  Josiah,  that  is  the  whole.  That 
is  Universal  Prayer  —  the  adoration  of  the  Universe  to 
its  Author ! 

CHARLES.  I  was  most  interested  in  this  verse  — 
"  The  day  is  coming,  and  now  is,  when  men  shall  wor 
ship  the  Father,"  etc.  I  think  that  this  means  that 
people  are  about  to  learn  what  to  worship,  and  where. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Have  you  learned  this  to-day  ? 

CHARLES.  Yes ;  I  have  learnt  some  new  things,  I 
believe. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     What  are  you  to  worship? 

CHARLES.     Goodness. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Where  is  it? 

CHARLES.     Within. 


*  This  improvisation  is  preserved  in  its  words.  Josiah,  it  may  be  named, 
was  under  seven  years  of  age,  and  the  other  children  were  chiefly  between 
the  ages  of  six  and  twelve  years. 


104  CONCORD  DAYS. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Within  what? 

CHARLES.     Conscience,  or  God. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Are  you  to  worship  Conscience  ? 

CHARLES.     Yes. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Is  it  anywhere  but  in  yourself  ? 

CHARLES.     Yes  ;  it  is  in  Nature. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Is  it  in  other  people  ? 

CHARLES.  Yes  ;  there  is  more  or  less  of  it  in  other 
people,  unless  they  have  taken  it  out. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Can  it  be  entirely  taken  out? 

CHARLES.     Goodness  always  lingers  in  Conscience. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Is  Conscience  anywhere  but  in  Human 
Nature? 

CHARLES.     It  is  in  the  Supernatural. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  You  said  at  first  that  there  was  some 
thing  in  outward  Nature  which  we  should  worship. 

CHARLES.  No  ;  I  don't  think  we  should  worship  any 
thing  but  the  Invisible. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     What  is  the  Invisible  ? 

CHARLES.     It  is  the  Supernatural. 

JOHN  B.  It  is  the  Inward  —  the  Spiritual.  But. I 
don't  see  why  we  should  not  worship  the  sun  a  little  as 
well  — 

MR.  ALCOTT.  As  well  as  the  Sun-maker  ?  But  there 
are  sun-worshippers. 

JOHN  B.  Yes ;  a  little ;  for  the  sun  gives  us  light 
and  heat. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  What  is  the  difference  between  your 
feeling  when  you  think  of  the  sun,  or  the  ocean  (he 


MAY.  105 

described  some  grand  scenes),  and  when  you  think  of 
Conscience  acting  in  such  cases  as  —  (he  gave  some 
striking  instances  of  moral  power).  Is  there  not  a 
difference? 

(They  raised  their  hands.) 

What  is  the  name  of  the  feeling  with  which  you  look 
at  Nature  ? 

SEVERAL.     Admiration. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  But  when  Conscience  governs  our 
weak  body,  is  it  not  a  Supernatural  Force  ?  Do  you 
not  feel  the  awe  of  the  inferior  before  a  superior  nature  ? 
And  is  not  that  worship  ?  The  sun  cannot  produce  it. 

JOSIAH.     Spirit  worships  Spirit.    Clay  worships  Clay. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Wait  a  moment,  Josiah.  I  wish  first 
to  talk  with  the  others  ;  let  me  ask  them  this  question : 
Do  you  feel  that  Conscience  is  stronger  than  the 
mountain,  deeper  and  more  powerful  than  the  ocean? 
Can  you  say  to  yourself,  I  can  remove  this  mountain  ? 

JOSIAH  (burst  out).  Yes,  Mr.  Alcott !  I  do  not 
mean  that  with  my  body  I  can  lift  up  a  mountain  — 
with  my  hand ;  but  I  can  feel ;  and  I  know  that  my 
Conscience  is  greater  than  the  mountain,  for  it  can  feel 
and  do ;  and  the  mountain  cannot.  There  is  the 
mountain,  there  !  It  was  made,  and  that  is  all.  But 
my  Conscience  can  grow.  It  is  the  same  kind  of  Spirit 
as  made  the  mountain  be,  in  the  first  place.  I  do  not 
know  what  it  may  be  and  do.  The  Body  is  a  mountain, 
and  the  Spirit  says,  be  moved,  and  it  is  moved  into 
another  place. 


106  CONCOED  DATS. 

Mr.  Alcott,  we  think  too  much  about  clay.  We 
should  think  of  Spirit.  I  think  we  should  love  Spirit, 
not  Clay.  I  should  think  a  mother  now  would  love  her 
baby's  Spirit ;  and  suppose  it  should  die,  that  is  only 
the  Spirit  bursting  away  out  of  the  Body.  It  is  alive  ; 
it  is  perfectly  happy.  I  really  do  not  know  why  people 
mourn  when  their  friends  die.  I  should  think  it  would 
be  matter  of  rejoicing.  For  instance:  now,  if  we 
should  go  out  into  the  street  and  find  a  box  —  an  old 
dusty  box  —  and  should  put  into  it  some  very  fine 
pearls,  and  by  and  by  the  box  should  grow  old  and 
break,  why,  we  should  not  even  think  about  the  box ; 
but  if  the  pearls  were  safe,  we  should  think  of  them 
and  nothing  else,  So  it  is  with  the  Soul  and  Body.  I 
cannot  see  why  people  mourn  for  bodies. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Yes,  Josiah  ;  that  is  all  true,  and  we 
are  glad  to  hear  it.  Shall  some  one  else  now  speak 
besides  you  ? 

JOSIAH.  Oh,  Mr.  Alcott !  then  I  will  stay  in  the  re 
cess  and  talk. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  When  a  little  infant  opens  its  eyes 
upon  this  world,  and  sees  things  out  of  itself,  and  has 
the  feeling  of  admiration,  is  there  in  that  feeling  the 
beginning  to  worship  ? 

JOSIAH.  No,  Mr.  Alcott ;  a  little  baby  does  not 
worship.  It  opens  its  eyes  on  the  outward  world,  and 
sees  things,  and  perhaps  wonders  what  they  are ;  but 
it  don't  know  anything  about  them  or  itself.  It  don't 
know  the  uses  of  anything ;  there  is  no  worship  in  it. 


MAY.  107 

MR.  ALCOTT.  But  in  this  feeling  of  wonder  and 
admiration  which  it  has,  is  there  not  the  beginning  of 
worship  that  will  at  last  find  its  object? 

JOSIAII.  No ;  there  is  not  even  the  beginning  of 
worship.  It  must  have  some  temptation,  I  think,  before 
it  can  know  the  thing  to  worship. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  But  is  there  not  a  feeling  that  comes 
up  from  within,  to  answer  to  the  things  that  come  to  the 
eyes  and  ears  ? 

JOSIAII.     But  feeling  is  not  worship,  Mr.  Alcott. 

MR.  ALCOTT.     Can  there  be  worship  without  feeling  ? 

JOSIAH.  No  ;  but  there  can  be  feeling  without  wor 
ship.  For  instance,  if  I  prick  my  hand  with  a  pin,  I 
feel,  to  be  sure,  but  I  do  not  worship. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  That  is  bodily  feeling.  But  may  not 
the  little  infant  find  its  power  to  worship  in  the  feeling 
which  is  first  only  admiration  of  what  is  without. 

JOSIAH.  No,  no ;  I  know  what  surprise  is,  and  I 
know  what  admiration  is ;  and  perhaps  the  little 
creature  feels  that.  But  she  does  not  know  enough  to 
know  that  she  has  conscience,  or  that  there  is  temp 
tation.  My  little  sister  feels,  and  she  knows  some 
things  ;  but  she  does  not  worship. 

MR.  ALCOTT.  Now  I  wish  you  all  to  think.  What 
have  we  been  talking  about  to-day  ? 

CHARLKS.     Spiritual  Worship.* 

*  Here  I  was  obliged  to  pause,  as  I  was  altogether  fatigued  with  keeping 
my  pen  in  long  and  uncommonly  constant  requisition.  I  was  enabled  to  pre 
serve  the  words  better  than  usual,  because  Josiah  had  RO  much  of  the  con 
versation,  whose  enunciation  is  slow,  and  whose  fine  choice  of  language  and 
eteadiutBS  of  mind,  makes  him  easy  to  follow  and  remember.  —  Recorder. 


108  CON  COED  DAYS. 


PLUTARCH'S   LETTER  TO   HIS    WIFE. 

S  UXDAT,  30. 

I  SOMETIMES  think  the  funeral  rites  and  cemeteries 
of  a  people  best  characterize  its  pfety.  Contrast 
the  modern  with  the  primitive  grave-yards,  —  their 
funeral  services  so  dismal,  doleful,  despairing :  as  if 
their  faith  in  immortality  were  fittest  clad  in  sables, 
and  death  were  a  descent  of  souls,  instead  of  an 
ascension.  What  fairer  views  of  life  and  of  immor 
tality  our  fresher  faith  exhibits.  Verdure,  cheerful  mar 
bles,  tasteful  avenues,  flowers,  simple  epitaphs,  inscrip 
tions  celebrating  the  virtues  properly  humane.  What 
in  the  range  of  English  lyric  verse  is  comparable  to 
Wordsworth's  ode,  entitled  Intimations  of  Immortality 
in  Childhood,  or  his  prose  Essay  on  Epitaphs.  Nor  is 
the  contrast  so  disparaging  between  these  and  Pagan 
moralities.  Christianity  can  hardly  add  to  the  sweet 
ness  and  light,  the  tenderness,  trust  in  man's  future 
well-being,  shown  in  Plutarch's  consolatory  Letter  to 
his  Wife  on  the  death  of  his  little  daughter.  One 
becomes  more  Christian,  even,  in  copying  it. 

PLUTARCH  TO  HIS  WIFE  — ALL  HEALTH. 

"  As  for  the  messenger  you  dispatched  to  tell  me  of 

the  death  of  my  little  daughter,  it  seems  he  missed  his 

way  as  he  was  going  to  Athens.     But  when  I  came  to 

Tanagra  I  heard  of  it  by  my  niece.     I  suppose  by  this 


MAY.  109 

time  the  funeral  is  over.  I  wish  that  whatever  happens, 
as  well  now  as  hereafter,  may  create  you  no  dissatis 
faction.  But  if  you  have  designedly  let  anything  alone, 
depending  upon  my  judgment,  thinking  better  to  deter 
mine  the  point  if  I  were  with  you,  I  pray  let  it  be 
without  ceremony  or  timorous  superstition,  which  I 
know  are  far  from  you.  Only,  dear  wife,  let  you  and 
me  bear  our  affliction  with  patience.  I  know  very  well, 
and  do  comprehend  what  loss  we  have  had ;  but  if  I 
should  find  you  grieve  beyond  measure,  this  would 
trouble  me  more  than  the  thing  itself;  for  I  had  my 
birth  neither  from  a  stock  nor  stone,  and  you  know  it 
full  well ;  I  having  been  assistant  to  you  in  the  educa 
tion  of  so  many  children,  which  we  brought  up  at  home 
under  our  own  care. 

"  This  much-lamented  daughter  was  born  after  four 
sons,  which  made  me  call  her  by  your  own  name ; 
therefore,  I  know  she  was  dear  to  you,  and  grief  must 
have  a  peculiar  pungency  in  a  mind  tenderly  affection 
ate  to  children,  when  you  call  to  mind  how  naturally 
witty  and  innocent  she  was,  void  of  anger,  and  not 
querulous.  She  was  naturally  mild  and  compassionate, 
to  a  miracle.  And  she  showed  delight  in,  and  gave  a 
specimen  of,  her  humanity  and  gratitude  towards  any 
thing  that  had  obliged  her,  for  she  would  pray  her  nurse 
to  give  suck,  not  only  to  other  children,  but  to  her  very 
playthings,  as  it  were  courteously  inviting  them  to  her 
table,  and  making  the  best  cheer  for  them  she  could. 
Now,  my  dear  wife,  I  see  no  reason  why  these  and  the 


110  'CONCORD  DAYS. 

like  things  which  delighted  us  so  much  when  she  was 
alive,  should,  upon  remembrance  of  them,  afflict  us 
when  she  is  dead.  But  I  also  fear,  lest  while  we  cease 
from  sorrowing,  we  should  forget  her,  as  Clymene 
said :  — 

I  hate  the  handy  horned  bow, 

And  banish  youthful  pastimes  now, 

because  she  would  not  be  put  in  mini  of  her  son,  by 
the  exercises  he  had  been  used  to.  For  nature  always 
shuns  such  things  as  are  troublesome.  But  since  our 
little  daughter  afforded  all  our  senses  the  sweetest  and 
most  charming  pleasure,  so  ought  we  to  cherish  her 
memory,  which  will  in  many  ways  conduce  more  to  our 
joy  than  grief.  And  it  is  but  just  that  the  same  argu 
ments  which  we  have  ofttimes  used  to  others  should 
prevail  upon  ourselves  at  this  so  seasonable  a  time,  and 
that  we  should  not  supinely  sit  down  and  overwhelm 
the  joys  which  we  have  tasted  with  a  multiplicity  of 
new  griefs.  Moreover,  they  who  were  present  at  the 
funeral,  report  this  with  admiration,  that  you  neither 
put  on  mourning,  nor  disguised  yourself,  or  any  of  your 
maids  ;  neither  were  there  any  costly  preparations,  nor 
magnificent  pomp,  but  that  all  things  were  managed 
with  prudence  and  moderation.  And  it  seemed  not 
strange  to  me,  that  you,  who  never  used  richly  to  dress 
yourself,  for  the  theatre  or  other  public  solemnities, 
esteeming  such  magnificence  vain  and  useless,  even  in 
matters  of  delight,  have  now  practised  frugality  on 
this  finest  occasion.  .  .  .  There  is  no  philosopher  of 


MAY.  Ill 

your  acquaintance  who  is  not  in  love  with  your  fru 
gality,  both  in  apparel  and  diet ;  nor  a  citizen,  to 
whom  the  simplicity  and  plainness  of  your  dress  is 
not  conspicuous,  both  at  religious  sacrifices  and  pub 
lic  shows  in  the  theatre.  Formerly,  also,  you  discov 
ered  on  a  like  occasion,  a  great  constancy  of  mind  when 
you  lost  your  eldest  son.  And  again,  when  the  lovely 
Charon  left  us.  For  I  remember  when  the  news  was 
brought  me  of  my  son's  death,  as  I  was  returning  home 
with  some  friends  and  guests  who  accompanied  me  to 
my  house,  that  when  they  beheld  all  things  in  order, 
and  observed  a  profound  silence  everywhere  (as  they 
afterwards  declared  to  others),  they  thought  no  such 
calamity  had  happened,  but  that  the  report  was  false. 
So  discreetly  had  you  settled  the  affairs  of  the  house  at 
that  time,  when  no  small  confusion  and  disorder  might 
have  been  expected.  And  yet  you  gave  this  son  suck 
yourself,  and  endured  the  lancing  of  your  breast  to 
prevent  the  ill  effects  of  a  contusion.  These  are  things 
worthy  of  a  generous  woman,  and  one  that  loves  her 
children.  .  .  . 

u  Moreover,  I  would  have  you  endeavor  to  call  often 
to  mind  that  time  when  our  daughter  was  not  as  yet 
born  to  us,  then  we  had  no  cause  to  complain  of  for 
tune.  Then,  joining  that  time  with  this,  argue  thus 
with  yourself,  that  we  are  in  the  same  condition  as 
then.  Otherwise,  dear  wife,  we  shall  seem  discontented 
at  the  birth  of  our  little  daughter  if  we  own  that  our 
circumstances  were  better  before  her  birth.  But  the 


112  CONCORD  DAYS. 

two  years  of  her  life  are  by  no  means  to  be  forgotten 
by  us,  but  to  be  numbered  amongst  our  blessings,  in 
that  they  afforded  us  an  agreeable  pleasure.  Nor  must 
we  esteem  a  small  good  for  a  great  evil,  nor  ungrate 
fully  complain  of  fortune  for  what  she  has  actually 
given  us,  because  she  has  not  added  what  we  wished 
for.  Certainly,  to  speak  reverently  of  the  gods,  and  to 
bear  our  lot  with  an  even  mind,  without  accusing  for 
tune,  alwa}'S  brings  with  it  a  fair  reward.  .  .  . 

"  But  if  you  lament  the  poor  girl  because  she  died 
unmarried  and  without  offspring,  you  have  wherewithal 
to  comfort  yourself,  in  that  you  are  defective  in  none 
of  these  things,  having  had  your  share.  And  those  are 
not  small  benefits  where  they  are  enjoyed.  But  so  long 
as  she  is  gone  to  a  place  where  she  feels  no  pain,  she 
has  no  need  of  our  grief.  For  what  harm  can  befall  us 
from  her  when  she  is  free  from  all  hurt  ?  And  surely, 
the  loss  of  great  things  abates  its  grief  when  it  is  come 
to  this,  that  there  is  no  more  ground  of  grief,  or  care 
for  them.  But  thy  Timoxena  was  deprived  but  of  small 
matters,  for  she  had  no  knowledge  but  of  such,  neither 
took  she  delight  but  in  such  small  things.  But  for  that 
which  she  never  was  sensible  of,  nor  so  much  as  once 
did  enter  her  thoughts,  how  can  you  say  it  is  taken 
from  you  ? 

"  As  for  what  you  hear  others  say,  who  persuade  the 
vulgar  that  the  soul  when  once  freed  from  the  body, 
suffers  no  inconvenience  or  evil,  nor  is  sensible  at  all, 
I  know  that  you  are  better  grounded  in  the  doctrines 


MAY.  113 

delivered  down  to  us  from  our  ancestors,  as  also  in 
the  sacred  mysteries  of  Bacchus,  than  to  believe  such 
stories,  for  the  religious  symbols  are  well  known  to  us 
who  are  of  the  fraternity.  Therefore,  be  assured  that 
the  soul,  being  incapable  of  death,  suffers  in  the  same 
manner  as  birds  that  are  kept  in  a  cage.  For  if  she 
has  been  a  long  time  educated  and  cherished  in  the 
body,  arid  by  long  custom  has  been  made  familiar  with 
most  things  of  this  life,  she  will  (though  separable) 
return  to  it  again,  and  at  length  enters  the  body  ;  nor 
ceases  it  by  new  birth  now  and  then  to  be  entangled  in 
the  chances  and  events  of  this  life.  For  do  not  think 
that  old  age  is  therefore  evil  spoken  of  and  blamed,  be 
cause  it  is  accompanied  with  wrinkles,  gray  ha^irs,  and 
weakness  of  body ;  but  this  is  the  most  troublesome 
thing  in  old  age,  that  it  stains  and  corrupts  the  soul 
with  the  remembrances  of  things  relating  to  the  body, 
to  which  she  was  too  much  addicted ;  thus  it  bends 
and  loves,  retaining  that  form  which  it  took  of  the 
body.  But  that  which  is  taken  away  in  youth,  being 
more  soft  and  tractable,  soon  returns  to  its  native 
vigor  and  beauty,  just  like  fire  that  is  quenched, 
which,  if  it  be  forthwith  kindled  again,  sparkles  and 
burns  out  immediately. 

As  soon  as  e'er  we  take  one  breath 

'T  were  good  to  pass  the  gates  of  death, 

before  too  great  love  of  bodily  and  earthly  things  be 
engendered  in  the  soul,  and  it  become  soft  and  tender 


114  CONCORD  DAYS. 

by  being  used  to  the  body,  and,  as  it  were,  by  charms 
and  portions  incorporated  with  it.  But  the  truth  of 
this  will  appear  in  the  laws  and  traditions,  received 
from  our  ancestors  ;  for  when  children  die,  no  libations 
nor  sacrifices  are  made  for  them,  nor  any  other  of  those 
ceremonies  which  are  wont  to  be  performed  for  the 
dead.  For  infants  have  no  part  of  earth  or  earthly 
affections,  nor  do  they  hover  or  tarry  about  their  sepul 
chres  or  monuments,  where  their  dead  bodies  are  ex 
posed.  The  religion  of  our  country  teaches  us  otherwise, 
and  it  is  an  impious  thing  not  to  believe  what  our  laws 
and  traditions  assert,  that  the  souls  of  infants  pass 
immediately  into  a  better  and  more  divine  state  ;  there 
fore,  since  it  is  safer  to  give  credit  to  our  traditions 
than  to  call  them  in  question,  let  us  comply  with  the 
custom  in  outward  and  public  behavior,  and  let  our 
interior  be  more  unpolluted,  pure  and  holy." 


JUNE. 


Rose  leaves  and  buds,  the  season's  flowers, 
Scenting  afresh  the  summer  hours, 
The  ruddy  morn,  the  evening's  close, 
Day's  labors  long  and  night's  repose. 


BERRIES. 

TUESDAY,  1. 

EISE  with  the  sun,  if  you.  would  keep  the  com 
mandments.  The  sleep  you  get  before  midnight 
goes  to  virtue ;  after  sunrise,  to  vice.  "  It  is  wise," 
says  Aristotle,  "  to  be  up  before  daybreak,  for  such 
habit  contributes  to  health,  wealth,  and  wisdom."  If 
this  virtue,  commended  alike  by  antiquity  and  by  our 
sense  of  self-respect,  has  fallen  into  discredit  in  modern 
times,  it  was  practised  by  our  forefathers  and  bore  its 
fruits.  They 

"  With  much  shorter  and  far  sweeter  sleep  content, 
Vigorous  and  fresh  about  their  labors  went." 

"  He  that  in  the  morning  hath  heard  the  voice  of 
virtue,"  says  Confucius,  "  may  die  at  night."  And  it 
were  virtuous  to  rise  early  during  our  June  mornings 
to  breakfast  on  strawberries  with  the  robins,  or  what 
were  as  good,  partake  of  Leigh  Hunt's  delicious  Essay 
on  these  berries.  One  tastes  them  from  his  potted 
pages.  And  his  very  quotations  are  palatable. 

"  My  Lord  of  Ely,  when  I  was  last  in  Holburn, 
I  saw  good  strawberries  in  your  garden  there ; 
I  pray  you  send  for  some  of  them." 


118  CONCOED  DATS. 

An  ancient  may  read  "  Concord"  instead  of  "  my  Lord 
of  Ely's  "  gardens,  and  enjoy  the  sight  moreover  of  his 
grandson's  vermilioned  fingers  while  picking  them  ; 
the  berries  in  no  wise  inferior  to  his  Lordship's  in  flavor 
or  color,  and  far  larger  in  size,  —  that  Yankee  super 
stition.  But  one  tastes  none  like  the  wild  ones  plucked 
fresh  from  the  meadows  of  his  native  place,  while  the 
dews  sparkled  in  the  grasses,  and  the  bobolink  sought 
to  decoy  him  from  her  nest  there  when  he  approached 
it.  The  lay  lingers  in  the  ear  still :  — 

"A  single  note,  so  sweet  and  low, 
Like  a  full  heart's  overflow, 
Forms  the  prelude,  —  but  the  strain 
Gives  us  no  sweet  tone  again ; 
For  the  wild  and  saucy  song 
Leaps  and  skips  the  notes  among 
With  such  quick  and  sportive  play, 
Ne'er  was  merrier,  madder  lay." 

Herrick  dished  his  with  fresh  cream  from  his  "  little 
buttery  " :  — 

"  You  see  the  cream  but  naked  is, 
Nor  dances  in  the  eye 
Without  a  strawberry, 
Or  some  fine  tincture  like  to  this 
Which  draws  the  sight  thereto." 

So  Milton's  Eve  in  Eden,  — 

"  From  many  a  berry  and  from  sweet  kernels  pressed, 
She  tempered  dulcet  creams." 


JUNE.  119 

And  Aratus,  whom  St.  Paul  quotes  concerning  the 
gods,  calls  the  berries  in  aid  in  describing  the  roseate 
cheek  of  health  :  — 

"  Fair  flesh  like  snow  with  vermilion  mixed," 

a  line  that  took  Goethe's  fancy  when  composing  his 
Theory  of  Colors. 

Randolph,  too,  Ben  Jonson's  young  friend,  rides  out 
of  London  with  "  worthy  Stafford"  in  quest  of  some,  — 

"  Come,  spur  away, 
I  have  no  patience  for  a  longer  stay ; 
But  I  must  go  down 

And  leave  the  changeable  air  of  this  great  town. 
I  will  the  country  see, 
Where  old  simplicity, 
Though  hid  in  gray, 
Doth  look  more  gay 
Than  foppery  in  plush  and  scarlet  clad ; 
Farewell  ye  city  wits  that  are 
Almost  at  city  war,  — 
'T  is  time  that  I  grew  wise  when  all  the  world  is  mad. 

"  Here  from  the  tree 

We  '11  cherries  pluck,  and  pick  the  strawberry  i 
And  every  day 

Go  see  the  wholesome  girls  make  hay, 
Whose  brown  hath  lovelier  grace 
Than  any  painted  face 
That  I  do  know 
Hyde  Park  can  show. 

"  Then  full,  we  '11  seek  a  shade, 
And  hear  what  music 's  made ; 


120  CONCOED  DATS. 

How  Philomel 

Her  tale  doth  tell, 

And  how  the  other  birds  do  fill  the  choir, 
The  thrush  and  blackbird  lend  their  throats, 
Warbling  melodious  notes, 
We  will  all  sports  enjoy  that  others  do  desire." 

The  strawberry,  it  appears,  was  not  restored  to 
gardens  till  within  a  century  or  two  back.  Evelyn 
mentions  u  planting  them  out  of  the  woods."  I  do  not 
find  it  mentioned  as  a  cultivated  plant  in  the  Greek 
or  Roman  rural  authors.  Phillips,  in  his  History  of 
Fruits,  gives  this  pleasant  account  of  the  origin  of  its 
name.  That  of  "  an  ancient  practice  of  children  thread 
ing  the  wild  berries  upon  straws  of  grass,"  somewhat 
as  rude  country  boys  thread  birds'  egg-shells  like 
beads,  as  ornaments  for  their  mirrors.  He  says  that 
this  is  still  a  custom  in  parts  of  England  where  they 
abound,  and  that  so  many  "  straws  of  berries  "  are  sold 
for  a  penny,  —  a  more  picturesque  style  of  marketing 
than  in  pottles,  or  boxes.  Evelyn  mentions  the  kinds 
common  in  his  time  :  Common  Wood,  English,  Ameri 
can,  or  Virginia,  Polona,  White,  Ivy  Red,  the  Green, 
and  Scarlet. 

Culpepper,  in  his  British  Herbal,  says  :  "  This  plant 
is  so  well  known  that  it  needs  no  description.  It 
grows  in  woods  and  is  planted  in  gardens.  It  flowers 
in  May ;  the  fruit  ripens  soon  after.  Venus  owns  the 
herb.  The  fruit,  when  green,  is  cool  and  dry ;  but 
when  ripe,  cool  and  moist."  He  gives  a  list  of  its  med 
ical  virtues,  among  which,  he  says,  "  the  water  of  the 


JUNE.  121 

berries,  carefully  distilled,  is  a  remedy  and  cordial  in 
the  panting  and  beating  of  the  heart."  It  were  almost 
worth  having  this  trouble  to  be  cured  by  his  strawberry 
cordials. 

He  describes  the  raspberry,  also  called  thimbleberry, 
and  ascribes  to  it  similar  medical  virtues. 

Of  bilberries,  he  says  there  are  two  sorts  common 
in  England,  —  the  black  and  red.  The  red  bilberry  he 
calls  "  whortleberry,"  and  says  :  "  The  black  groweth 
in  forests,  on  the  heath,  and  such  like  barren  places. 
The  red  grows  in  the  north  parts  of  this  land,  as  Lan 
cashire,  Yorkshire,  etc.,  flowers  in  March  and  April, 
the  fruit  ripening  in  July  and  August."  "  Both  are 
under  the  dominion  of  Jupiter,"  and,  if  we  may  believe 
him,  are  very  virtuous,  it  being  "  a  pity  they  are  used 
no  more  in  physic  than  they  are."  In  August  we  gather 
as  good  in 

OUR  BLUEBERRY  SWAMP. 

"  Orange  groves  mid-tropic  lie, 
Festal  for  the  Spaniard's  eye, 
And  the  red  pomegranate  grows 
Where  the  luscious  southwest  blows ; 
Myrrh  and  spikenard  in  the  East 
Multiply  the  Persian's  feast, 
And  our  northern  wilderness 
Boasts  its  fruits  our  lips  to  bless. 
Wouldst  enjoy  a  magic  sight, 
And  so  heal  vexation's  spite  ? 
Hasten  to  my  blueberry  swamp,  — 
Green  o'erhead  the  wild  bird's  camp ; 


122  CONCORD  DAYS. 

"  Here  in  thickets  bending  low, 
Thickly  piled  the  blueberries  grow, 
Freely  spent  on  youth  and  maid, 
In  the  deep  swamp's  cooling  shade, 
Pluck  the  clusters  plump  and  full, 
Handful  after  handful  pull ! 
Choose  which  path,  the  fruitage  hangs,  — 
Fear  no  more  the  griping  fangs 
Of  the  garden's  spaded  stuff,  — 
This  is  healthy,  done  enough. 
Pull  away !  the  afternoon 
Dies  beyond  the  meadow  soon. 
Art  thou  a  good  citizen  ? 
Move  into  a  blueberry  fen ; 
Here  are  leisure,  wealth,  and  ease, 
Sure  thy  taste  and  thought  to  please, 
Drugged  with  nature's  spicy  tunes, 
Hummed  upon  the  summer  noons. 

"  Rich  is  he  that  asks  no  more 
Than  of  blueberries  a  store, 
Who  can  snatch  the  clusters  off, 
Pleased  with  himself  and  them  enough. 
Fame  ?  —  the  chickadee  is  calling ;  — 
Love  ?  —  the  fat  pine  cones  are  falling ; 
Heaven  ?  —  the  berries  in  the  air,  — 
Eternity  —  their  juice  so  rare. 
And  if  thy  sorrows  will  not  fly, 
Then  get  thce  down  and  softly  die. 
In  the  eddy  of  the  breeze, 
Leave  the  world  beneath  those  trees, 
And  the  purple  runnel's  tune 
Melodize  thy  mossy  swoon." 

W.  E.  CHANNTNG. 


JUNE.  123 

LETTERS. 

THURSDAY,  3. 

"Love  is  the  life  of  friendship;  letters  are 
The  life  of  love,  the  loadstones  that  by  rare 
Attractions  make  souls  meet  and  melt,  and  mix, 
As  when  by  fire  exalted  gold  we  fix." 

BUT  for  letters  the  best  of  our  life  would  hardly 
survive  the  mood  and  the  moment  Prompted  by 
so  lively  a  sentiment  as  friendship,  we  commit  to  our 
leaves  what  we  should  not  have  spoken.  To  begin 
with  "  Dear  Friend  "  is  in  itself  an  address  which 
clothes  our  epistle  in  a  rhetoric  the  most  select  and 
choice.  We  cannot  write  it  without  considering  its 
fitness  and  taxing  our  conscience  in  the  matter.  'T  is 
coming  to  the  confessional,  leaving  nothing  in  reserve 
that  falls  gracefully  into  words.  A  life-long  corre 
spondence  were  a  biography  of  the  correspondents. 
Preserve  your  letters  till  time  define  their  value.  Some 
secret  charm  forbids  committing  them  to  the  flames  ; 
the  dews  of  the  morning  may  sparkle  there  still,  and 
remind  one  of  his  earlier  Eden. 

"  Deeds  are  -masculine,  words  feminine  ;  letters  are 
neither,"  wrote  Howel.  Rather  say,  letters  are  both, 
and  better  represent  life  than  any  form  in  literature. 
Women  have  added  the  better  part,  the  most  cel 
ebrated  letters  having  been  written  by  women.  If 
your  morning's  letter  is  not  answered  and  dispatched 


OF 


124  CONCORD  DAYS. 

forthwith,  't  is  doubtful  if  it  will  ever  be  written.  Then 
there  are  those  to  whom  one  never  writes,  much  as  he 
may  wish  to  cultivate  correspondence.  He  reserves 
them  for  personal  intercourse. 

I  hardly  know  which  I  most  enjoy,  the  letter  I  send 
after  my  visitor,  or  the  visit  itself:  the  presence,  the 
conversation,  the  recollection.  Memory  idealizes  an 
ticipation  ;  our  visit  is  made  before  we  make  it,  made 
afterwards,  as  if  love  were  a  reminiscence  of  pleasures 
once  partaken  in  overflowing  fulness.  The  visit  that  is 
not  all  we  anticipated  is  not  made  ;  we  meet  as  ideal 
ists,  if  we  meet  at  all. 

My  moments  are  not  mine,  thou  art  in  sight 
By  days'  engagements  and  the  dreams  of  night, 
Nor  dost  one  instant  leave  me  free 
Forgetful  of  thy  world  and  thee. 

The  popular  superstition  favors  long  visits.  I  con 
fess  my  experience  has  not  borne  out  the  current  creed. 
Compliment,  of  course,  is  of  the  other  opinion,  if  we 
must  take  her  fine  accents  of  "  stay,  stay  longer."  But 
a  week's  stay  with  an  angel  would  hardly  bear  the 
epithet  angelic  after  it  was  over.  Fewer  and  farther 
between.  Good  things  are  good  to  keep  long  by  tem 
perate  use.  'T  is  true  a  visitor  who  comes  seldom  should 
not  fly  away  forthwith.  And  't  is  a  comfort  in  these 
fast  times  to  catch  one  who  has  a  little  leisure  on  hand, 
cleaf  the  while  to  the  engine's  whistle.  Stay  is  a  charm 
ing  word  in  a  friend's  vocabulary.  But  if  one  does 
not  stay  while  staying,  better  let  him  go  w'here  he  is 


JUNE.  125 

gone  the  while.  One  enjoys  a  visitor  who  has  much 
leisure  in  him,  in  her  especially, — likes  to  take  his 
friends  by  sips  sweetly,  not  at  hasty  draughts,  as  they 
were  froth  and  would  effervesce  forthwith  and  subside. 
Who  has  not  come  from  an  interview  as  from  a  marriage 
feast,  feeling  "  the  good  wine  had  been  kept  for  him 
till  wow"? 

Does  it  imply  a  refinement  in  delicacy  that  nuptial 
verses  have  no  place  with  us  in  marriage  ceremonies ; 
that  the  service  has  lost  the  mystic  associations  wont 
to  be  thrown  around  it  by  our  ancestors  down  almost  to 
our  time?  Once  epithalamium  verses  were  esteemed 
the  fairest  flowers,  the  ornament  of  the  occasion.  If 
the  poet  sometimes  overstepped  modern  notions  of 
reserve,  the  sentjments  expressed  were  not  the  less 
natural  if  more  freely  dealt '  with.  Spenser,  for  in 
stance,  suggests  the  loveliest  images,  and  with  all  hia 
wealth  of  fancy  ventures  never  a  glimpse  that  a  brido 
can  blame ;  while  Donne  delights  in  every  posture  of 
fancy,  as  if  he  were  love's  attorney  putting  in  his  plea 
for  all  delights,  —  yet  delicately,  oftentimes,  and  0:1 
other  occasions,  as  in  these  lines  entitled  "  Lovu 
Tokens":  — 


"  Send  me  some  token  that  my  hope  may  live, 

Or  that  my  ceaseless  thoughts  may  sleep  and  rest ; 
Send  me  some  honey  to  make  sweet  my  hive, 
That  in  my  passions  I  may  hope  the  best. 


126  CONCORD  DAYS. 

I  beg  no  ribbon  wrought  with  thine  own  hands 

To  knit  our  loves  in  the  fantastic  strain 
Of  new-touched  youth ;  nor  ring  to  show  the  stands 

Of  our  affection  :  —  that  as  that 's  round  and  plain, 
So  should  our  loves  meet  in  simplicity,  — 

No,  nor  the  corals  which  thy  wrist  infold 
Laced  up  together  in  congruity 

To  show  our  thoughts  should  rest  in  the  same  hold : 
No,  nor  thy  picture,  though  most  gracious, 

And  most  desired  since  't  is  like  the  best, 
Nor  witty  lines  which  are  most  copious 

Within  the  writings  which  thou  hast  addressed  : 
Send  me  not  this,  nor  that,  to  increase  my  store, 
But  swear  thou  think'st  I  love  thee,  and  no  more." 

To  the  Lady  Goodyeare  he  writes  :  — 

"  MADAM  :  —  I  am  not  come  out  of  England  if  I  remain  in 
the  noblest  part  of  it,  your  mind.  Yet  I  confess  it  is  too  much 
diminution  to  call  your  mind  any  part  of  England,  or  this 
world,  since  every  part  of  even  your  body  deserves  titles  to 
a  higher  dignity.  No  Prince  would  be  loath  to  die  that  were 
assured  of  so  fair  a  tomb  to  preserve  his  memory.  But  I  have 
a  greater  advantage  than  this,  for  since  there  is  a  religion  in 
\  friendship,  and  death  in  absence,  to  make  up  an  entire  friend 
there  must  needs  be  a  heaven  too ;  and  there  can  be  no  heaven 
^proportional  to  that  religion  and  that  death,  as  your  favor. 
And  I  am  the  gladder  that  it  is  a  heaven,  than  it  were  a  court, 
or  any  other  high  place  of  this  world,  because  I  am  likelier 
to  have  a  room  there,  and  better,  cheap.  Madam,  my  best 
treasure  is  time,  and  my  best  employment  of  that  (next  my 
thoughts  of  thankfulness  to  my  Redeemer)  is  to  study  good 
wishes  for  you,  in  which  I  am,  by  continual  meditation,  so 
learned  that  any  creature  except  your  own  good  angel,  when 


JUNE.  127 

it  does  you  most  good,  might  be  content  to  come  and  take 
instruction  from 

Your  humble  and  affectionate  servant, 

J.  D. 
Amyens,  the  7th  of  February,  year  1611.'* 

What  delicacy  of  compliment,  coupled  with  nobility 
of  sentiment,  the  fresh  color  of  flattery  not  less,  the 
rhetoric  so  graceful.  One  asks  if  our  New-England 
reserve  has  added  any  graces  to  the  Elizabethan  court 
liness,  and  if  any  feel  quite  at  home  in  its  tight  cos 
tumes.  Is  it  a  want  of  taste  if  one  is  taken  with  such 
courtly  compliments,  lofty  appreciation  of  character, 
such  stately  idealism,  extravagant  as  it  may  appear, 
and  bordering  on  insincerity  ?  I  wish  my  behavior,  my 
letters,  my  address,  may  blush  becomingly,  court  my 
friends'  eyes  as  well  as  affections,  by  coy  diffidences, 
win  by  lively  phrase,  telling  how  lovely  presence*  is. 
Friendship  is  a  plant  that  loves  the  sun,  —  thrives  ill 
under  clouds.  I  know  temperaments  have  their  zones, 
and  can  excuse  the  frigid  manner  of  some  in  whose 
breasts  there  burns  a  hidden  flame.  There  is  a  reserve 
that  seems  to  fear  the  affections  will  be  frosted  by  ex 
posure,  if  not  protected  from  any  wind  of  acknowledg 
ment.  If  "your  humble  servant"  is  written  seldomer 
at  the  end  of  the  letter,  and  "  Sir"  and  "  Madam  "  have 
dropped  the  once  "  Dear  "  and  "  My  Dear  "  —  used  these 
adjectively  for  ceremony's  sake,  —  the  address  has  lost 
so  much  warmth  and  all  the  abandon  the  words  once 
implied.  Must  I  withhold  expressing  all  I  would,  lest 


128  CONCOBD  DAYS. 

I  should  seem  to  imply  more  than  I  meant  ?  And  has 
one  nothing  personal  and  private  to  communicate  ?  It 
were  not  unbecoming  to  inquire  if  our  Puritan  culture 
still  held  us  in  check,  life  and  literature  were  under 
eclipse,  and  the  shadow  threatening  to  become  central 
and  total. 

Of  celebrated  letters,  Pliny's  are  among  the  most 
delightful.  A  perusal  of  them  refreshes  and  restores 
the  old  faith  in  persons  and  the  possibilities  of  friendship. 
Alas  for  an  age,  if  indifferent  to  this  antique  of  virtue, 
the  fair  fellowships  it  celebrates,  in  the  noble  names  of 
which  he  gives  so  many  illustrious  examples  in  his 
charming  pages.  Virtue  seems  something  to  be  sought, 
to  live  and  die  for,  every  accomplishment  a  part  of  it, 
and  a  possession.  I  confess  to  a  feeling,  as  I  read,  so 
modern  and  consonant  to  ideas  and  designs  dear  to  me, 
that  for  the  time  I  seem  to  recover  brothers  and  friends 
—  if  it  were  not  egotism  to  say  it  —  in  the  aims  and  ends 
which  I  have  so  long  loved  and  still  cherish  as  life's 
pursuit  and  problem.  A  vein  of  noble  morality  per 
vades  these  letters  which  renders  them  admirable  read 
ing  for  all  times  and  ages.  And  his  allusions  to  his 
own  life  and  pursuits,  the  glimpses  he  gives  of  his 
friends,  commend  his  pages  to  all  who  seek  virtue  and 
wisdom  at  their  sources.  To  his  friend  Paternus  he 
writes  with  a  tenderness  and  humanity  to  which  the 
epithet  Christian  would  add  little. 

iC  The   sickness  which  has   lately  run   through   my 


JUNE.  129 

family,  and  carried  off  several  of  my  domestics,  some 
of  them,  too,  in  the  prime  of  their  years,  has  deeply 
afflicted  me.  I  have  two  consolations,  however  ;  while 
though  they  are  not  adequate  to  so  considerable  a  loss, 
still  they  are  consolations.  One  is,  that  as  I  have  always 
very  readily  manumized  my  slaves,  their  death  does  not 
seem  altogether  immature,  if  they  lived  long  enough 
to  receive  their  freedom  ;  the  other,  that  I  have  allowed 
them  to  make  a  kind  of  will,  which  I  observe  as  re 
ligiously  as  if  they  were  legally  entitled  to  that  privi 
lege.  I  receive  and  obey  their  last  requests  as  so 
many  absolute  commands,  suffering  them  to  dispose  of 
their  effects  to  whom  they  please ;  with  this  single  re 
striction,  that  they  leave  them  to  some  of  the  family, 
which  to  persons  in  their  station  is  to  be  considered  as 
a  sort  of  commonwealth.  But  though  I  endeavor  to 
acquiesce  under  these  reflections,  yet  the  same  tender 
ness  which  led  me  to  show  them  these  indulgences,  still 
breaks  out  and  renders  me  too  sensitively  affected  by 
their  deaths.  However,  I  would  not  wish  to  be  incapa 
ble  of  these  tender  impressions  of  humanity,  though  the 
generality  of  the  world,  I  know,  look  upon  losses  of 
this  kind  in  no  other  view  than  as  a  diminution  of  their 
property,  and  fancy,  by  cherishing  such  an  unfeeling 
temper,  they  discover  superior  fortitude  and  philosophy. 
Their  fortitude  and  philosophy  I  will  not  dispute  ;  but 
humane,  I  am  sure  they  are  not ;  for  it  is  the  very 
criterion  of  true  manhood  to  feel  those  impressions  of 
sorrow  which  it  endeavors  to  resist,  and  to  admit  not 


130  CONGOED  DATS. 

to  be  above  the  want  of  consolation.  But  perhaps  I 
have  detained  you  too  long  upon  this  subject,  though 
not  so  long  as  I  would.  There  is  a  certain  pleasure  in 
giving  vent  to  one's  grief,  especially  when  we  pour 
out  our  sorrow  in  the  bosom  of  a  friend,  who  will  ap 
prove,  or,  at  least,  pardon  our  tears.  Farewell." 

Again  to  Geminitus  :  — 

"  Have  you  never  observed  a  sort  of  people  who, 
though  they  are  themselves  the  abject  slaves  of  every 
vice,  show  a  kind  of  malicious  indignation  against  the 
immoral  conduct  of  others,  and  are  the  most  severe  to 
those  whom  they  most  resemble  ?  Yet  surely  a  beauty 
of  disposition,  even  in  persons  who  have  least  occasion 
for  clemency  themselves,  is  of  all  virtues  the  most  be 
coming.  The  highest  of  character  in  my  estimation,  is 
His,  who  is  as  ready  to  pardon  the  moral  errors  of  man 
kind  as  if  he  were  every  day  guilty  of  some  himself, 
and  at  the  same  time  as  cautious  of  committing  a  fault 
as  if  he  never  forgave  one.  It  is  a  rule,  then,  which  we 
should  upon  all  occasions,  both  private  and  public,  most 
religiously  observe,  to  be  inexorable  to  our  own  failings, 
while  we  treat  those  of  the  rest  of  the  world  with  ten 
derness,  not  excepting  even  those  who  forgive  none  but 
themselves,  remembering  always  that  the  humane,  and, 
therefore,  as  well  as  upon  other  accounts,  the  great 
Thrasea,  used  frequently  to  say,  4  He  who  hates  vice 
hates  mankind.'  You  will  ask  me,  perhaps,  who  it  is 
that  has  given  occasion  to  these  reflections.  You  must 
know  a  certain  person  lately,  —  but  of  that  when  we 


JUNE.  131 

meet,  —  though,  upon  second  thoughts,  not  even  then, 
lest  while  I  condemn  and  expose  his  conduct,  I  should 
act  counter  to  that  maxim  I  particularly  recommend' 
Whoever,  therefore)  and  whatever  he  is,  shall  remain  in 
silence  ;  for  though  there  may  be  some  use,  perhaps,  in 
setting  a  mark  upon  the  man,  for  the  sake  of  example, 
there  will  be  more,  however,  in  sparing  him,  for  the  sake 
of  humanity." 

Again :  — 

"  There  are,  it  seems,"  he  writes  to  his  friend  Sep- 
titius,  "  certain  persons  who  in  your  company  have 
blamed  me,  as  being  upon  all  occasions  too  lavish  in 
commendation  of  my  friends.  I  not  only  acknowledge 
the  charge,  but  glory  in  it ;  for,  can  there  be  a  nobler 
error  than  an  overflowing  benevolence  ?  But  still,  who 
are  these,  let  me  ask,  that  are  better  acquainted  with 
my  friends  than  I  am  myself?  Yet,  grant  there  are  such, 
why  will  they  deny  me  the  satisfaction  of  so  pleasing 
an  error?  For,  supposing  my  friends  deserve  not  the 
high  encomiums  I  give  them,  certainly  I  am  happy  in 
believing  they  do.  Let  them  recommend,  then,  this 
ungenerous  discernment  to  those  who  imagine  (and 
their  number  is  not  inconsiderable)  that  they  show 
their  judgment  when  they  indulge  their  censure.  As 
for  myself,  they  will  never  persuade  me  that  I  can  love 
my  friends  too  well." 

How  amiable  and  just  are  sentiments  like  these  ren 
dering  odious  the  carping  censure  and  ill-natured  criti- 


132  CONCOED  DATS. 

cism  which  finds  free  currency  between  those  who,  while 
meeting  as  acquaintances,  perhaps  affecting  friendship 
for  each  other,  yet  speak  disparagingly,  and  are  loath  to 
acknowledge  the  merit  which  they  see  in  each  other's 
character  and  acquirements.  It  is  safer,  and  certainly 
more  becoming,  to  overpraise  than  to  undervalue  and 
dispraise  another.  Faults  are  apparent  enough,  and, 
for  the  most  part,  superficial ;  in  the  atmosphere  of 
affection  and  respect  they  fall  away  presently  and  dis 
appear  altogether,  while  virtues  may  be  too  deep  some 
times  and  delicate  in  expression  to  be  recognized  readily 
by  those  who  seek  for  blemishes  rather.  Modest  praise 
is  the  freshest  and  purest  atmosphere  for  modest  virtue 
to  thrive  in  and  come  to  maturity.  And  the  most 
exalted  qualities  of  character  admiration  alone  brings 
into  the  relief  that  discloses  their  proportions  and 
reveals  their  lustre.  A  certain  sentiment  of  worship 
insinuates  itself  into  our  affections  for  a  near  and  dear 
friend  ;  and  while  endearing  us  the  more,  yet  holds  us  at 
the  distance  of  reverence  and  of  self-respect  that  be 
longs  to  the  noblest  friendships.  'T  is  the  poverty  of  life 
that  renders  friendship  poor  and  cold.  I  am  drawn  to 
one  who,  while  I  approach  yet  seems  distant  still ;  whose 
personality  has  a  quality  so  commanding  as  to  forbid  a 
familiarity  not  justified  by  affection  and  reason  alike, 
and  whom  I  never  quite  come  up  to,  but  yet  is  akin 
to  me  in  the  attributes  that  win  my  regard  and  insure 
my  affection.  A  good  man  is  a  bashful  man  ;  he  affects 
all  who  come  within  his  influence  with  that  grace. 


JUNE.  133 

Do  not  the  gods  blush  in  descending  to  meet  alike  our 
affections  and  our  eyes? 

"  The  eldest  god  is  still  a  child." 

BOOKS . 

TUESDAY,  8. 

NEXT  to  a  friend's  discourse,  no  morsel  is  more 
delicious  than  a  ripe  book,  a  book  whose  flavor  is 
as  refreshing  at  the  thousandth  tasting  as  at  the  first. 
Books  when  friends  weary,  conversation  flags,  or  nature 
fails  to  inspire.  The  best  books  appeal  to  the  deepest 
in  us  and  answer  the  demand.  A  book  loses  if  wanting 
the  personal  element,  gains  when  this  is  insinuated,  or 
comes  to  the  front  occasionally,  blending  history  with 
mythology. 

My  favorite  books  have  a  personality  and  complexion 
as  distinctly  drawn  as  if  the  author's  portrait  were 
framed  into  the  paragraphs  and  smiled  upon  me  as  I 
read  his  illustrated  pages.  Nor  could  I  spare  them 
from  my  table  or  shelves,  though  I  should  not  open  the 
leaves  for  a  twelvemonth ;  —  the  sight  of  them,  the 
knowledge  that  they  are  within  reach,  accessible  at 
any  moment,  rewards  me  when  I  invite  their  company. 
Borrowed  books  are  not  mine  while  in  hand.  I 
covet  ownership  in  the  contents,  and  fancy  that  he  who 
is  conversant  with  these  is  the  rightful  owner,  and 
moreover,  that  the  true  scholar  owes  to  scholars  a 


134  CONCORD  DAYfi. 

catalogue  of  his  chosen  volumes,  that  they  may  learn 
from  whence  his  entertainment  during  leisure  moments. 
Next  to  a  personal  introduction,  a  list  of  one's  favorite 
authors  were  the  best  admittance  to  his  character  and 
manners.  His  library  were  not  voluminous.  He  might 
specify  his  favorites  on  his  fingers,  and  spare  the 
printer's  type. 

"Books  have  many  charming  qualities  to  such  as 
know  how  to  choose  them."  And  without  Plutarch, 
no  library  were  complete. 

Can  we  marvel  at  his  fame,  or  overestimate  the  sur 
passing  merits  of  his  writings  ?  It  seems  as  I  read  as 
if  none  before,  none  since,  had  written  lives,  as  if  he 
alone  were  entitled  to  the  name  of  biographer,  —  such 
intimacy  of  insight  is  his,  lajdng  open  the  springs  of 
character,  and  through  his  parallels  portraying  his  times 
as  no  historian  had  done  before  :  not  Plato,  even,  in  the 
livelier  way  of  dialogue  with  his  friends.  Then  his 
morals  are  a  statement  of  the  virtues  for  all  times.  And 
I  read  the  list  of  his  lost  writings,  not  without  a  sense 
of  personal  wrong  done  to  me,  with  emotions  akin  to 
what  the  merchant  might  feel  in  perusing  the  bill  of 
freight  after  the  loss  of  his  vessel.  Hercules,  Hesiod, 
Pindar,  Leonidas,  Scipio,  Augustus,  Claudius,  Epami- 
nondas,  minds  of  mark,  all  these  and  other  precious 
pieces  gone  to  the  bottom :  his  books  on  the  Academy 
of  Plato,  The  Philosophers,  and  many  more  of  this 
imperial  freight,  to  be  read  by  none  now.  Still,  there 
remains  so  much  to  be  grateful  for ;  so  many  names 


JUNE.  135 

surviving  to  perpetuate  virtue  and  all  that  is  splendid 
in  fame,  with  his  own.  I  for  one  am  his  debtor,  not  for 
noble  examples  alone,  but  for  portraits  of  the  pos 
sibilities  of  virtue,  and  all  that  is  dearest  in  friendship, 
in  his  attractive  pages.  It  is  good  exercise,  good  med 
icine,  the  reading  of  his  books,  —  good  for  to-day,  as  in 
times  it  was  preceding  ours,  salutary  reading  for  all 
times. 

Montaigne  also  comes  in  for  a  large  share  of  the 
scholar's  regard.  Opened  anywhere,  his  page  is  sensi 
ble,  marrowy,  quotable.  He  may  be  taken  up,  too,  and 
laid  aside  carelessly  without  loss,  so  inconsequent  is  his 
method,  and  he  so  careless  of  his  wealth.  Professing 
nature  and  honesty  of  speech,  his  page  has  the  sugges 
tions  of  the  landscape,  is  good  for  striking  out  in  any 
direction,  suited  to  any  mood,  sure  of  yielding  variety 
of  information,  wit,  entertainment,  —  not  to  be  com 
manded,  to  be  sure,  without  grave  abatements,  to  be 
read  with  good  things  growing  side  by  side  with  things 
not  such  and  tasting  of  the  apple.  Still,  with  every 
abatement,  his  book  is  one  of  the  ripest  and  mellowest, 
and,  bulky  as  it  is,  we  wish  there  were  more  of  it.  He 
seems  almost  the  only  author  whose  success  warrants  in 
every  stroke  of  his  pen  his  right  to  guide  it :  he  of  the 
men  of  letters,  the  prince  of  letters ;  since  writing  of 
life,  he  omits  nothing  of  its  substance,  but  tells  all  with 
a  courage  unprecedented.  His  frankness  is  charming. 
So  his  book  has  indescribable  attractions,  being  as 
it  were  a  Private  Book,  —  his  diary  self-edited,  and 


136  CONCOED  DAYS. 

offered  with  an  honesty  that  wins  his  readers,  he  never 
having  done  bestowing  his  opulent  hospitalities  on  him, 
gossiping  sagely,  and  casting  his  wisdom  in  sport  to 
any  who  care  for  it.  Everywhere  his  page  is  alive  and 
rewarding,  and  we  are  disappointed  at  finding  his  book 
conies  to  an  end  like  other  books. 

Lord  Herbert's  Autobiography  is  a  like  example  of 
sincerity  and  naturalness.  If  he  too  often  play  the 
cavalier,  and  is  of  a  temper  that  brooks  not  the  sus 
picion  of  insult,  he  is  equally  eager  to  defend  when 
friendship  or  humanity  render  it  a  duty.  The  brothers, 
Edward  and  George,  were  most  estimable  characters. 
To  George  how  largely  are  we  in  debt  for  his  sacred 
verses,  the  delight  and  edification  of  the  saints  wher 
ever  they  are  known.  Add  Vaughan  and  Crashaw. 
And  making  due  allowance  for  the  time  when  Her- 
rick's  verses  were  written,  his  temptation  to  suit  the 
tastes  of  courtiers  and  kings,  his  volumes  contain 
much  admirable  poetry,  tempered  with  religious  devo 
tion.  He  wrote  sweet  and  virtuous  verse,  with  lines 
• 

here  and  there  that  should  not  have  been  written. 
But  he  is  an  antedote  to  the  vice  in  his  lines,  and 
may  well  have  place  in  the  scholar's  library  with  Donne, 
Daniel,  Cowley,  Shakespeare,  and  contemporaries. 

If  one  would  learn  the  titles  and  gain  insight  into  the 
contents  of  the  best  books  in  our  literature,  let  him 
track  Coleridge  in  his  readings  and  notes  as  these  have 
been  collected  and  published  in  his  Literary  Remains 
and  Table  Talk.  He  explored  the  wide  field  of  litera- 


£>  137 

tnre  and  philosophy,  and  brought  to  light  richer  spoils 
than  any  scholar  of  his  time,  or  since.  His  reading 
was  not  only  choice,  but  miscellaneous.  Nothing  of 
permanent  value  appears  to  have  escaped  his  searching 
glance,  and  his  criticisms  on  books  are  among  the  most 
valuable  contributions  to  British  letters.  He  knew  how 
to  read  to  get  and  give  the  substance  of  the  book  in 
sprightly  comment  and  annotation  on  the  text.  His 
judgments  are  final  and  exhaustive.  To  follow  him 
were  an  education  in  itself. 

One's  diary  is  attractive  reading,  and  productive,  if 
he  have  the  art  of  keeping  one. 

Thoreau  wrote  in  his  :  — 

a  I  set  down  such  choice  experiences  that  my  own 
writings  may  inspire  me,  and  at  last  I  may  make 
wholes  of  parts.  Certainly  it  is  a  distinct  profession 
to  rescue  from  oblivion  and  to  fix  the  sentiments  and 
thoughts  which  visit  all  men,  more  or  less,  generally, 
and  that  the  contemplation  of  the  unfinished  picture 
may  suggest  its  harmonious  completion.  Associate 
reverently  and  as  much  as  you  can  with  your  loftiest 
thoughts.  Each  thought  that  is  welcomed  and  recorded 
is  a  nest-egg  by  the  side  of  which  another  will  be  laid. 
Thoughts  accidentally  thrown  together  become  a  frame 
in  which  more  may  be  developed  and  exhibited.  Per 
haps  this  is  the  main  value  of  a  habit  of  writing  or 
keeping  a  journal,  —  that  is,  we  remember  our  best 
draught,  and  stimulate  ourselves.  My  thoughts  are 
my  company.  They  have  a  certain  individuality  and 


138  CONCOED  DATS. 

separate  existence,  large  personality.  Having  by 
chance  recorded  a  few  disconnected  thoughts  and  then 
brought  them  into  juxtaposition,  they  suggest  a  whole 
new  field  in  which  it  is  possible  to  labor  and  think. 
Thought  begets  thought.  I  have  a  commonplace-book 
for  facts,  and  another  for  poetry.  But  I  find  it  diffi 
cult  always  to  preserve  the  vague  distinctions  which 
I  had  in  my  mind,  for  the  most  interesting  and  beau 
tiful  facts  are  so  much  the  more  poetry,  —  and  that  is 
their  success.  They  are  translated  from  earth  to  heaven. 
I  see  that  if  my  facts  were  sufficiently  vital  and  signifi 
cant,  perhaps  transmuted  more  into  the  substance  of 
the  human  mind,  I  should  need  but  one  book  of  poetry 
to  contain  them  all. 

"I  do  not  know  but  thoughts  written  down  thus  in  a 
journal  might  be  printed  in  the  same  form  with  greater 
advantage  than  if  the  related  ones  were  brought  to 
gether  into  separate  essays.  They  are  allied  to  life, 
and  can  be  seen  by  the  reader  not  to  be  far-fetched  ; 
thus,  more  simple,  less  artful.  I  feel  that  in  the  other 
case,  I  should  have  a  proper  form  for  my  sketches. 
Here  facts  and  names  and  dates  communicate  more 
than  we  suspect.  Whether  the  flower  looks  better  in 
the  nosegay  than  in  the  meadow  where  it  grew,  and 
we  had  to  wet  our  feet  to  get  it  ?  Is  the  scholastic  air 
any  advantage?  Perhaps  I  can  never  find  so  good  a 
setting  for  thoughts  as  I  shall  thus  have  taken  them  out 
of.  The  crystal  never  sparkles  more  brightly  than  in 
the  cavern.  The  world  have  always  liked  best  the 


JUNE.  139 

fable  with  the  moral.  The  children  could  read  the 
fable  alone.  The  grown-up  read  both.  The  truth  so 
told  has  the  best  advantages  of  the  most  abstract 
statement,  for  it  is  not  the  less  universally  applicable. 
Where  else  will  you  ever  find  the  true  cement  for  your 
thoughts  ?  How  will  you  ever  rivet  them  together  with 
out  leaving  the  marks  of  your  file  ? 

"  Yet  Plutarch  did  not  so.  Montaigne  did  not  so. 
Men  have  written  travels  in  this  form  ;  but  perhaps  no 
man's  daily  life  has  been  rich  enough  to  be  journalized. 
Yet  one's  life  should  be  so  active  and  progressive  as  to 
be  a  journey.  But  I  am  afraid  to  travel  much,  or  to 
famous  places,  lest  it  might  completely  dissipate  the 
mind.  Then  I  am  sure  that  what  we  observe  at  home, 
if  we  observe  anything,  is  of  more  importance  than 
what  we  observe  abroad.  The  far-fetched  is  of  least 
value.  What  we  observe  in  travelling  are  to  some 
extent  the  accidents  of  the  body  ;  but  what  we  observe 
when  sitting  at  home  are  in  the  same  proportion 
phenomena  of  the  mind  itself.  A  wakeful  night  will 
yield  as  much  thought  as  a  long  journey.  If  I  try 
thoughts  by  their  quality,  not  their  quantit}',  I  may 
find  that  a  restless  night  will  yield  more  than  the 
longest  journey." 

These  masterpieces,  Thoreau's  Diaries,  are  a  choice 
mingling  of  physical  and  metaphysical  elements.  They 
show  the  art  above  art  which  was  busied  about  their 
composition.  They  come  near  fulfilling  the  highest 
ends  of  expression ;  the  things  seen  become  parts  of 


140  CONCORD  DAYS. 

the  describer's  mind,  and  speak  through  his  Person. 
Quick  with  thought,  his  sentences  are  colored  and  con 
solidated  therein  by  his  plastic  genius. 

Of  gifts,  there  seems  none  more  becoming  to  offer  a 
friend  than  a  beautiful  book,  books  of  verse  especially. 
How  exquisite  these  verses  of  Crashaw's,  u  Addressed 
to  a  Lady  with  a  Prayer  Book." 

"  Lo,  here  a  little  volume,  but  great  book, 
Fear  it  not,  sweet, 
It  is  no  hypocrite, 
Much  larger  in  itself,  than  in  its  look. 

"  It  is,  in  one  rich  handful,  heaven  and  all 
Heaven's  royal  hosts  encamp'd,  thus  small, 
To  prove  that  true  schools  used  to  tell 
A  thousand  angels  in  one  point  can  dwell. 

"  'T  is  Love's  great  artillery 
Which  here  contracts  itself  and  comes  to  lie 
Close  couched  in  your  white  bosom,  and  from  thence 
As  from  a  snowy  fortress  of  defence 
Against  the  ghostly  foe  to  take  your  part, 
And  fortify  the  hold  of  your  chaste  heart. 

"  It  is  the  armory  of  light, 
Let  constant  use  but  keep  it  bright, 

You  '11  find  it  yields 
To  holy  hands  and  humble  hearts, 

More  swords  and  shields 
Than  sin  hath  snares,  or  hell  hath  darts. 


JUNE.  141 


Only  be  sure 

The  hands  be  pure 

That  hold  these  weapons,  and  the  eyes 
Those  of  turtles,  chaste  and  true, 

Wakeful  and  wise. 

"  Here  is  a  friend  shall  fight  for  you ; 
Hold  this  book  before  your  heart, 
Let  prayer  alone  to  play  his  part. 

"  But  O !  the  heart 
That  studies  this  high  art, 
Must  be  a  sure  housekeeper, 
And  yet  no  sleeper. 

"  Dear  soul,  be  strong, 
Mercy  will  come  ere  long, 
And  bring  her  bosom  full  of  blessings ; 

Flowers  of  never-fading  graces 
To  make  immortal  dressings 

For  worthy  souls,  whose  wise  embraces 
Store  up  themselves  for  him,  who  is  alone 
The  spouse  of  virgins,  and  the  Virgin's  Son. 

"  But  if  the  noble  bridegroom  when  he  come 
Shall  find  the  wandering  heart  from  home, 

Leaving  her  chaste  abode 

To  gad  abroad 

Amongst  the  gay  mates  of  the  god  of  flies, 
To  take  her  pleasures,  and  to  play 

And  keep  the  devil's  holiday ; 
To  dance  in  the  sunshine  of  some  smiling 

•But  beguiling 
Spear  of  sweet  and  sugared  lies ; 


142  CONCORD  DATS. 

Some  slippery  pair 
Of  false,  perhaps  as  fair, 
Flattering,  but  forswearing  eyes, 
Doubtless  some  other  heart 

Will  get  the  start, 

And  stepping  in  before, 
Will  take  possession  of  the  sacred  store 

Of  hidden  sweets  and  holy  joys, 

Words  which  are  not  heard  with  ears 

(Those  tumultuous  shops  of  noise), 

Effectual  whispers,  whose  still  voice 
The  soul  itself  more  feels  than  hears ; 
Amorous  lauguishments,  luminous  trances, 

Sights  which  are  not  seen  with  eyes ; 
Spiritual  and  soul-piercing  glances, 
Whose  pure  and  subtle  lightning  flies 
Home  to  the  heart  and  sets  the  house  on  fire, 
And  melts  it  down  in  sweet  desire, 

Yet  doth  not  stay 

To  ask  the  window's  leave  to  pass  that  way. 
An  hundred  thousand  loves  and  graces, 

And  many  a  mystic  thing 

Which  the  divine  embraces, 
Of  the  dear  spouse  of  spirits  with  them  will  bring, 

For  which  it  is  no  shame 
That  dull  mortality  must  not  know  a  name. 

Of  all  this  hidden  store 

Of  blessings,  and  ten  thousand  more, 

If  when  he  come 
He  find  the  heart  from  home, 
Doubtless  he  will  unload 
Himself  some  otherwhere, 

And  pour  abroad* 

His  precious  sweets 
On  the  fair  soul  whom  first  he  meets." 


JUNE.  143 

SPECULATIVE    PHILOSOPHY. 

THURSDAY,  10. 

THE  first  number  of  Volume  III.  of  the  "  Journal 
of  Speculative  Philosophy  "  comes  to  hand,  printed 
in  fair  tjrpe,  with  promise  of  attracting  attention  from 
thinkers  at  home  and  abroad.  And  it  is  a  significant 
fact  that  the  most  appreciative  notice  yet  taken  of  this 
Journal  comes  from  Germany,  and  is  written  by  the 
President  of  the  Berlin  Philosophical  Society.  Nor 
less  remarkable  that  this  first  attempt  to  popularize 
Philosophy,  so  far  as  practicable,  should  date  from  the 
West,  and  show  an  ability  in  dealing  with  speculative 
questions  that  may  well  challenge  the  attainments  of 
thinkers  everywhere,  —  the  translations  showing  a  ripe 
scholarship,  and  covering  almost  the  whole  range  of 
historic  thinking.* 

*  "Nothing  is  more  interesting  in  the  history  of  the  human  mind  than  the 
tendency  of  enlightened  souls  in  all  ages  to  gather  in  clusters,  as  in  the 
material  world  crystallization  goes  on  by  the  gathering  of  individual  atoms 
about  one  axis  of  formation.  Thus  the  schools  of  Greek  Philosophy,  the 
Pythagorean,  the  Eleatic,  the  Peripatetic,  the  Alexandrian,  were  human 
crystallizations  about  a  central  idea,  and  generally  in  a  given  locality,  —  as 
Samoa,  Athens,  or  the  Lucanian  city  of  Elea,  where  Zeno  learned  lessons 
of  Parmenides,  and  whence  they  both  journeyed  to  Athens  in  the  youth  of 
Socrates,  and  held  their  "  Radical  Club  »  at  the  honne  of  Pythodorus  in  the 
Ceramicus.  The  Schoolmen  and  the  Mystics  of  the  middle  ages  clustered 
together  in  the  same  way  about  Abelard.  Thomas  Aquinas,  Occam,  Gerson, 
Giardano  Bruno,  the  early  Italian  poets,  rally  in  groups  in  the  same  way; 
so  do  the  Elizabethan  Dramatists,  the  Puritan  Politicians,  the  English  Plato- 
nlste.  Coming  nearer  our  own  time,  there  are  the  Lake  Poets  of  England, 
the  Weimar  circle  of  genius,  in  Germany,  the  Transcendental  Idealists  in 


144  CONCORD  DATS. 

England,  too,  has  at  last  found  a  metaphysician 
that  Coleridge  would  have  accepted  and  prized.  And 
the  more  that  he  follows  himself  in  introducing  philos 
ophy  from  Germany  into  Britain.  James  Hutchison 
Stirling's  fervor  and  strength  in  advocating  Hegel's 
ideas  command  the  highest  respect.  Having  had 
Schelliug's  expositor  in  Coleridge,  we  now  have  Hegel's 
in  Stirling ;  and,  in  a  spirit  of  catholicity  shown  to  for 
eign  thought  unexpected  in  an  Englishman,  promising 
not  a  little  in  the  way  of  qualifying  favorably  the  met 
aphysics  of  Britain.  Nothing  profound  nor  absolute 
can  be  expected  from  minds  of  the  type  of  Mill, 
Herbert  Spencer,  and  the  rest,  —  if  not  hostile,  at  least 


Concord  and  Boston,  and  finally,  the  German  American  Philosophers  of  St. 
Louis,  concerning  whom  we  now  speak.  In  all  these  Schools  and  Fellow 
ships  of  the  human  soul,  a  common  impulse,  aided  by  accident  of  locality 
and  other  circumstances,  trivial  only  in  appearance,  has  led  to  the  formation 
of  that  strictest  hond,  the  friendship  of  united  aspirations.  New  England  has 
so  long  been  considered  the  special  home  of  ideas,  that  it  may  surprise  one 
to  learn  that  St.  Louis,  on  the  Mississippi,  has  become  the  focus  of  a  meta 
physical  renasissance;  yet  such  it  has  become.  A  few  Germans,  New  England- 
ers,and  Western  men  gathered  there,  having  found  each  other  out,  began  to 
meet,  expatiate,  and  confer  about  Kant  and  Hegel,  Fichte,  and  Sir  William 
Hamilton .  Soon  they  formed  a  Philosophical  Society,  and  by  and  by,  having 
accumulated  many  manuscripts,  they  began  to  publish  a  Magazine  of  "  Spec 
ulative  Philosophy."  At  first,  this  publication  came  out  semi-occasionally, 
but  finally  settled  down  into  a  regular  Quarterly,  with  contributors  on  both 
Bides  of  the  Atlantic,  and  from  various  schools  of  metaphysical  thought. 
The  January  number  is,  indeed,  a  remarkable  production.  Every  article  is 
good,  and  most  of  them  profound;  no  such  collection  of  striking  varieties  of 
philosophic  thought  has  been  made  public  for  a  long  time  as  this.  The 
Journal  is  edited  by  William  T.  Harris,  LL.D.,  Superintendent  of  the  Public 

Schools  of  St.  Louis." 

F.  B.  SANBORN, 

in  "  Springfield  Ilepublican,"  March,  18G9. 


JUNE.  145 

indifferent  to  and  incapable  of  idealism ;  naturalists 
rather  than  metaphysicians.  It  will  be  a  most  hopeful 
indication  if  Stirling's  book,  the  "  Secret  of  Hegel," 
find  students  among  his  countrymen.  Cavilling  there 
will  be,  of  course,  misapprehension,  much  nonsense 
uttered  concerning  Hegel's  Prime  Postulates.  But 
what  was  thought  out  fairly  in  Germany,  must  find 
its  way  and  prompt  comprehension  in  England  ;  if  not 
there,  then  here  in  New  England,  out  of  whose  heart  a 
fresh  philosophy  should  spring  forth,  to  which  the  Ger 
man  Hegel  shall  give  impulse  and  furtherance.  The 
work  has  already  begun,  with  Harris's  publishing  the 
thoughts  of  the  world's  thinkers,  himself  familiar 
with  the  best  of  all  thinking.  I  look  for  a  more  flow 
ing,  inspiring  type  of  thought,  Teutonic  as  Greek,  of  a 
mystic  coloring  transcending  Boehme,  Swedenborg,  and 
freed  from  the  biblicisms  of  the  schools  of  our  time. 
Hegel's  secret  is  that  of  pure  thought  akin  with  that 
of  Parmenides,  Plato,  Aristotle,  the  ancient  masters 
in  philosophy.  The  One  is  One  out  of  whose  womb  the 
Not  One  is  born  to  perish  perpetually  at  its  birth. 
Whoso  pronounces  PERSON  apprehensively,  speaks  the 
secret  of  all  things,  and  holds  the  key  to  all  mysteries 
in  nature  and  spirit. 

For  further  encouragement,  moreover,  we  are  prom 
ised  a  translation  of  the  complete  works  of  Plotinus, 
by  a  learned  contributor  to  the  "  Journal,"  who  has 
qualifications  for  that  service  unsurpassed,  perhaps, 
by  any  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic. 
7 


14G  CONCORD  DATS. 

He  writes  from  St.  Louis :  — 

u  I  have  tried  my  hand  on  Plotinus,  and  find  it  easy 
to  render  the  text  into  modern  philosophical  phrase 
ology.  Until  lately  I  have  been  unable  to  procure  a 
good  critical  edition  of  the  Greek  philosopher.  And 
now,  if  my  energies  are  spared,  a  translation  of  his 
entire  works  is  not  very  far  in  the  future."  * 

It  were  a  good  test  of  one's  aptitude  for  metaphysical 
studies,  his  appreciation  of  Plotinus.  Profound  as  any 
predecessor  of  the  Platonic  school  of  idealism,  he  had 
the  remarkable  merit  of  treating  ideas  in  a  style  at  once 
transparent  and  subtle,  dealing  with  these  as  if  they 
were  palpable  things,  such  was  his  grasp  of  thought  and 
felicity  in  handling.  His  themes  are  of  universal  con 
cernment  at  all  times.  Promoting  a  catholic  and  manly 
method,  his  books  were  good  correctives  of  any  exclu- 
siveness  still  adhering  in  our  schools  of  science  and 
divinity,  while  the  tendencies  of  his  time,  as  in  ours, 
were  towards  comparative  studies. 

A  like  tendency  appeared,  also,  in  England  in  the 
studies  of  the  British  Platonists,  or  Latitudinarians,  — 
Dr.  Henry  More,  Dr.Cudworth,  Dr.  Rust,  Norris,  Glanvil, 
John  Smith,  whose  writings  deserve  a  place  in  theo 
logical  libraries,  and  the  study  of  divines  especially. 

Norris  thus  praises  his  friend  Dr.  More,  whose  works 
had  high  repute  and  were  much  studied  in  his  day  :  — 

*  Ilis  works  are  comprised  in  fifty-four  books,  which  his  disciple  Porphyry 
divided  into  six  Enneads,  assigning,  agreeably  to  the  meaning  of  the  word, 
nine  books  to  every  Ennead.  Thomas  Taylor  translated  parts  of  these  only. 


JUNE.  147 

"  Others  in  learning's  chorus  bear  their  part, 
And  the  great  work  distinctly  share ; 
Thou,  our  great  catholic  professor  art, 
All  science  is  annexed  to  thy  unerring  chair ; 
Some  lesser  synods  of  the  wise 
The  Muses  kept  in  universities ; 
But  never  yet  till  in  thy  soul 
Had  they  a  council  oecumenical : 
An  abstract  they  'd  a  mind  to  see 

Of  all  their  scattered  gifts,  and  summed  them  up  in  thee. 
Thou  hast  the  arts  whole  Zodiac  run, 
And  fathom'st  all  that  here  is  known; 
Strange  restless  curiosity, 
Adam' himself  came  short  of  thee,  — 
He  tasted  of  the  fruit,  thou  bearest  away  the  tree.'* 

And  More  writes  of  Plotinus  :  — 

"  Who  such  things  did  see, 
Even  in  the  tumult  that  few  can  arrive 

Of  all  are  named  from  philosophy, 
To  that  high  pitch  or  to  such  secrets  dive."  * 


*  "  It  would  make  a  most  delightful  and  instructive  essay,"  says  Coleridge, 
"  to  draw  up  a  critical,  and,  where  possible,  biographical  account  of  the  Lat- 
itudinarian  party  at  Cambridge,  from  the  reign  of  James  I  to  the  latter  half 
of  Charles  II.  The  greater  number  were  Platonists,  so  called,  at  le;ist,  and 
such  they  believed  themselves  to  be,  but  more  truly  Plotinists.  Thus  Cud- 
worth,  Dr.  Jackson  (chaplain  of  Charles  I  and  Vicar  of  Newcastle  upon 
Tyne),  Henry  More,  John  Smith,  and  some  others  (Norris,  G-lanvil).  Jere 
my  Taylor  was  a  Gassendist,  and,  as  far  as  I  know,  he  is  the  only  exception. 
They  were  alike  admirers  of  Grotius,  which,  in  Taylor,  was  consistent  with 
the  tone  of  all  his  philosophy.  The  whole  party,  however,  and  a  more  ami 
able  never  existed,  were  scared  and  disgusted  into  this  by  the  catachrcstic  lan 
guage  and  the  skeleton  half  truths  of  the  systematic  divineg  of  the  synod  af 
Dort  on  the  one  hand,  and  by  the  sickly  broodings  of  the  Pietists  and  Solo- 


148  CONCORD  DAYS. 

lit- 

PLOTINUS. 

Plotinus  was  by  birth  an  Egyptian,  a  native  of  Sy- 
copolis.  He  died  at  the  conclusion  of  the  second  year 
of  the  reign  of  M.  Aurelius  Flavius  Claudius,  at  the 
age  of  sixty-six.  On  his  friend  Eustochius  coming 
from  a  distance  and  approaching  him  when  dying,  he 
said  :  u  As  yet  I  have  expected  you,  and  now  I  endeavor 
that  my  divine  part  may  return  to  that  divine  nature 
which  flourishes  throughout  the  universe." 

Taylor  says  of  him,  "  He  was  a  philosopher  pre 
eminently  distinguished  for  the  strength  and  profundity 
of  his  intellect,  and  the  purity  and  elevation  of  his  life. 
He  was  wise  without  the  usual  mixture  of  human  dark 
ness,  and  great  without  the  general  combination  of 
human  weakness  and  imperfection.  He  seems  to  have 
left  the  orb  of  light  solely  for  the  benefit  of  mankind, 
that  he  might  teach  them  how  to  repair  the  ruin  con 
tracted  by  their  exile  from  good,  and  how  to  return  to 
their  true  country  and  legitimate  kindred  allies.  I  do 
not  mean  that  he  descended  into  mortality  for  unfolding 
the  sublimest  truths  to  the  multitude,  for  this  would 

men's  Song  preachers  on  the  other.  What  they  all  wanted  was  a  pre-inquisi- 
tion  into  the  mind,  as  part  organ,  part  constituent,  of  all  knowledge,  — au 
examination  of  the  scales  and  weights  and  measures  themselves  abstracted 
from  the  objects  to  be  weighed  or  measured  by  them;  in  short,  a  transcen 
dental  aesthetic,  logic,  and  noetic.  Lord  Herbert  was  at  the  entrance  of,  nay, 
already  some  paces  within,  the  shaft  and  adit  of  the  mine;  but  he  turned 
abruptly  back,  and  the  honor  of  establishing  a  complete  irpoTrcuSei'a  (Organon) 
of  philosophy  was  reserved  for  Immanuel  Kant,  a  century  or  more  after 
wards."— ii£.  Remains,  iii.  416. 


JUNE.  149 

have  been  a  vain  and  ridiculous  attempt,  since  their 
eyes,  as  Plato  justly  observes,  are  not  strong  enough 
to  look  at  truth.  But  he  came  as  a  guide  to  the  few 
who  are  born  with  a  divine  destiny,  and  are  struggling 
to.  gain  the  lost  region  of  light,  but  know  not  how  to 
break  the  fetters  by  which  they  are  detained  ;  who  are 
impatient  to  leave  the  obscure  cavern  of  sense,  where 
all  is  delusion  and  shadow,  and  to  ascend  to  the  realms 
of  intellect,  where  all  is  substance  and  reality." 

His  biographers  speak  of  him  with  the  truest  admi 
ration.  He  was  foreign  from  all  sophistical  ostentation 
and  pride,  and  conducted  himself  in  the  company  of 
disputants  with  the  same  freedom  and  ease  as  in  his 
familiar  discourses  ;  for  true  wisdom,  when  it  is  deeply 
possessed,  gives  affability  and  modesty  to  the  man 
ners,  illumines  the  countenance  with  a  divine  serenity, 
and  diffuses  over  the  whole  external  form  an  air  of  dig 
nity  and  ease.  Nor  did  he  hastily  disclose  to  every  one 
the  logical  necessities  latent  in  his  conversation.  He 
was  strenuous  in  discourse,  and  powerful  in  discovering 
what  was  appropriate.  While  he  was  speaking,  there 
was  every  indication  of  the  predominance  of  intellect 
in  his  conceptions.  The  light  of  it  diffused  itself  over 
his  countenance,  which  was  indeed,  at  all  times,  lovely, 
but  was  then  particularly  beautiful ;  a  certain  atten 
uated  and  dewy  moisture  appeared  on  his  face,  and  a 
pleasing  mildness  shone  forth.  Then,  also,  he  exhib 
ited  a  gentleness  in  receiving  questions,  and  demon 
strated  a  vigor  uncommonly  robust  in  their  solution. 


150  CONCOED  DAYS. 

He  was  rapidly  filled  with  what  he  read,  and  having  in 
a  few  words  given  the  meaning  of  a  profound  theory, 
he  arose.  He  borrowed  nothing  from  others,  his  con 
ceptions  being  entirely  his  own,  and  his  theories  origi 
nal.  He  could  by  no  means  endure  to  read  twice  what 
he  had  written.  Such,  indeed,  was  the  power  of  his 
intellect,  that  when  he  had  once  conceived  the  whole 
disposition  of  his  thoughts  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end,  and  had  afterwards  committed  them  to  writing,  his 
composition  was  so  connected,  that  he  appeared  to  be 
merely  transcribing  a  book.  Hence  he  would  discuss 
his  domestic  affairs  without  departing  from  the  actual 
intention  of  his  mind,  and  at  one  and  the  same  time 
transact  the  necessary  negotiations  of  friendship,  and 
preserve  an  uninterrupted  survey  of  the  things  he  had 
proposed  to  consider.  In  consequence  of  this  uncom 
mon  power  of  intellection,  when  he  returned  to  writing, 
after  the  departure  of  the  person  with  whom  he  had 
been  conversing,  he  did  not  review  what  he  had  written  ; 
and  yet  he  so  connected  the  preceding  with  the  subse 
quent  conceptions,  as  if  his  composition  had  not  been 
interrupted.  Hence,  he  was  at  the  same  time  present 
with  others  and  with  himself;  so  that  the  self-converted 
energy  of  his  intellect  was  never  remitted,  except  in 
sleep,  which  his  admirable  temperance  in  meats  and 
drinks,  and  his  constant  conversion  to  intellect,  con 
tributed  in  no  small  measure  to  expel.  Though  he  was 
attentive  to  his  pupils  and  the  necessary  concerns  of 
life,  the  intellectual  energy  of  his  soul  while  he  was 


JUNE.  151 

awake  never  suffered  any  interruption  from  externals, 
nor  any  remission  of  vigor.  He  was  likewise  extremely 
mild  in  his  manners,  and  easy  of  access  to  all  his 
friends  and  adherents.  Hence,  so  great  was  his  phil 
osophic  urbanity,  that  though  he  resided  at  Rome  six 
and  twenty  years,  and  had  been  the  arbitrator  in  many 
litigious  causes  which  he  amicably  dissolved,  yet  he 
had  scarcely  an  enemy  throughout  that  vast  and  illus 
trious  city.  Indeed,  he  was  so  highly  esteemed,  not 
only  by  the  senate  and  people  of  Rome,  that  the  Em 
peror  Galienus  and  his  wife  Salonica  honored  his  per 
son  and  reverenced  his  doctrine ;  and  relying  on  his 
benevolence,  requested  that  a  city  in  Campania,  which 
had  been  formerly  destroyed,  might  be  restored,  and 
rendered  a  fit  habitation  for  philosophers,  and  besides 
this,  that  it  might  be  governed  by  the  laws  of  Plato, 
and  called  Platonopolis. 


IDEAL    CULTURE. 

THURSDAY,  17. 

E  new  courses  of  lectures  at  Harvard  University 
are  advertised  by  the  new  President.  They  are  a 
novelty  in  our  college  culture.  A  marked  peculiarity 
is  the  announcement  of  a  course  to  be  given  by  Emer 
son,  on  the  Natural  History  of  Intellect ;  by  Dr. 
Hedge,  on  Theism,  Atheism,  and  Pantheism ;  and  by 
J.  Eliot  Cabot,  on  Kant.  The  course,  or  any  part  of 
it,  is  open  "  to  graduates,  teachers,  and  other  competent 
persons,  men  or  women." 


152  CONCORD  DAYS. 

It  is  hoped,  also,  that  Hutchison  Stirling  may  bo 
added  to  the  list  of  lecturers,  —  an  acquisition  certainly 
that  Harvard  should  be  proud  to  secure,  both  for  its 
own  and  the  credit  of  metaphysical  studies  on  this  side 
of  the  Atlantic. 

The  English  mind  seems  to  have  held  aloof  from 
pure  metaphysics,  —  from  German  Idealism,  especially. 
Berkeley,  its  finest  thinker  since  Bacon,  was  for  a  long 
time  misapprehended,  if,  indeed,  he  is  fairly  appreciated 
as  yet.  Boehme,  Kant,  Schelling,  were  unknown  till 
Coleridge  introduced  their  ideas  to  the  notice  of  his 
contemporaries  —  Carlyle  those  of  Goethe,  and  the  great 
scholars  of  Germany. 

"  Great,  indeed,"  says  Coleridge,  "  are  the  obstacles 
which  an  English  metaphysician  has  to  encounter. 
Amongst  his  most  respectable  and  intelligent  judges, 
there  will  be  many  who  have  devoted  their  attention 
exclusively  to  the  concerns  and  interests  of  human  life, 
and  who  bring  with  them  to  the  perusal  of  philosophical 
systems,  an  habitual  aversion  to  all  speculations,  the 
utility  and  application  of  which  are  not  evident  and 
immediate. 

u  There  are  others  whose  prejudices  are  still  more 
formidable,  inasmuch  as  they  are  grounded  in  tfteir 
moral  feelings  and  religious  principles,  which  had  been 
alarmed  and  shocked  by  the  injurious  and  pernicious 
tenets  defended  by  Hume,  Priestley,  and  the  French 
Fatalists,  or  Necessitarians,  some  of  whom  had  perverted 
metaphysical  reasonings  to  the  denial  of  the  mysteries, 


JUNE.  153 

and,  indeed,  of  all  the  peculiar  doctrines  of  Christian 
ity  ;  and  others,  to  the  subversion  of  all  distinctions 
between  right  and  wrong. 

u  A  third  class  profess  themselves  friendly  to  meta 
physics,  and  believe  that  they  are  themselves  metaphy 
sicians.  They  have  no  objection  to  system  and  terru- 
ology,  provided  it  be  the  method  and  nomenclature  to 
which  they  have  been  familiarized  in  the  writings  of 
Locke,  Hume,  Hartley,  Condillac,  or,  perhaps,  Dr.  Reid 
and  Professor  Stewart. 

"  But  the  worst  and  widest  impediment  remains.  It 
is  the  predominance  of  a  popular  philosophy,  at  once 
the  counterfeit  and  mortal  enemy  of  all  true  and  manly 
metaphysical  research.  It  is  that  corruption  intro 
duced  by  certain  unmethodical  aphorisming  Eclectics, 
who,  dismissing,  not  only  all  system,  but  all  logical 
consequence,  pick  and  choose  whatever  is  most  plausi 
ble  and  showy ;  who  select  whatever  words  can  have 
semblance  of  sense  attached  to  them,  without  the  least 
expenditure  of  thought ;  in  short,  whatever  may  enable 
men  to  talk  of  what  they  do  not  understand,  with  a 
careful  avoidance  of  everything  that  might  awaken 
them  to  a  moment's  suspicion  of  their  ignorance." 

Fifty  years  and  more  have  passed  since  this  criticism 
was  written  ;  and,  with  slight  change  of  names  for  sim 
ilar  things,  it  still  holds  for  the  popular  estimate  put 
upon  metaphysics  by  too  many  scholars  of  our  time. 
11'  Coleridge,  Schelling,  Hegel,  and  the  rest,  are  still 


154  CONCORD  DAYS. 

held  in  disregard  by  persons  in  chairs  of  philosophy, 
we  may  infer  the  kind  of  culture  which  the  universities 
favor.  What  he  also  said  of  intellectual  culture  in 
his  country  and  time,  holds  scarcely  less  true  as  regards 
ours ;  and  this  in  a  republic,  too,  which  in  theory 
educates  all  its  citizens. 

"  I  am  greatly  deceived  if  one  preliminary  to  an 
efficient  popular  education  be  not  the  recurrence  to  a 
more  manly  discipline  of  the  intellect  on  the  part  of 
the  learned  themselves  ;  in  short,  a  thorough  recasting 
of  the  moulds  in  which  the  minds  of  our  gentry,  the 
characters  of  our  future  landowners,  magistrates,  and 
senators,  are  to  receive  their  shape  and  fashion.  What 
treasures  of  practical  wisdom  would  be  once  more 
brought  to  open  day  by  the  solution  of  the  problem. 
Suffice  it  for  the  present  to  hint  the  master  thought. 

"  The  first  man  on  whom  the  light  of  an  Idea  dawned, 
did  in  that  same  moment  receive  the  spirit  and  creden 
tials  of  a  lawgiver.  And  as  long  as  man  shall  exist,  so 
long  will  the  possession  of  that  antecedent  —  the  maker 
and  master  of  all  profitable  experience,  which  exists 
in  the  power  of  an  idea — be  the  one  lawful  qualification 
for  all  dominion  in  the  world  of  the  senses.  Without 
this,  experience  itself  is  but  a  Cyclops  walking  back 
wards  under  the  fascinations  of  the  past ;  and  we  are 
indebted  to  a  lucky  coincidence  of  outward  circum 
stances  and  contingencies,  least  of  all  to  be  calculated 
on  in  a  time  like  the  present,  if  this  one-eyed  expe- 


JUNE.  155 

ricnce  does  not  seduce  its  worshippers  into  practical 
anachronisms.  But,  alas  !  the  halls  of  the  old  philos 
ophers  have  been  so  long  deserted,  that  we  circle  them  at 
shy  distance,  as  the  haunt  of  phantoms  and  chimeras. 
The  sacred  grave  of  Academus  is  held  in  like  regard  with 
the  unfruitful  trees  in  the  shadowy  world  of  Maro,  that 
had  a  dream  attached  to  every  leaf.  The  very  terms 
of  ancient  wisdom  are  worn  out ;  or,  far  worse,  stamped 
as  baser  metal ;  and  whoever  should  have  the  hardihood 
to  re-proclaim  its  solemn  truths,  must  commence  with  a 
glossary." 

The  Dialectic,  or  Method  of  the  Mind,  constitutes  the 
basis  of  all  culture.  Without  a  thorough  discipline  in 
this,  our  schools  and  universities  give  but  a  showy  and 
superficial  training.  The  knowledge  of  mind  is  the 
beginning  of  all  knowledge  ;  without  this  a  theology  is 
baseless,  the  knowledge  of  God  impossible.  Modern 
education  has  not  dealt  witli  these  deeper  questions  of 
life  and  being.  It  has  the  future  in  which  to  prove 
its  power  of  conducting  a  Cultus,  answering  to  the 
discipline  of  the  Greek  thinkers,  Pythagoras,  Plato, 
Aristotle. 

As  yet  we  deal  with  mind  with  far  less  certainty  than 
with  matter ;  the  realm  of  intellect  having  been  less 
explored  than  the  world  of  the  senses,  and  both  are 
treated  conjecturally  rather  than  absolutely.  When  we 
come  to  perceive  that  Intuition  is  the  primary  postulate 
of  all  intelligence,  most  questions  now  perplexing  and 


156  CONCORD  DAYS. 

obscure  will  become  transparent ;  the  lower  imperfect 
methods  then  take  rank  where  they  belong  and  are 
available.  The  soul  leads  the  senses  ;  the  reason  the 
understanding  ;  imagination  the  memory ;  instinct  and 
intuition  include  and  prompt  the  Personality  entire. 

The  categories  of  imagination  are  the  poet's  tools ; 
those  of  the  reason,  the  implements  of  the  naturalist. 
The  dialectic  philosopher  is  master  of  both.  The  tools 
to  those  only  who  can  handle  them  skilfully.  All  others 
but  gash  themselves  and  their  subject,  at  best.  Ask 
not  a  man  of  understanding  to  solve  a  problem  in 
metaphysics.  He  has  neither  wit,  weights,  nor  scales 
for  the  task.  But  a  man  of  reason  or  of  imagination 
solves  readily  the  problems  of  understanding  the  mo 
ment  these  are  fairly  stated.  Ideas  are  solvents  of  all 
mysteries,  whether  in  matter  or  mind. 

'T  is  clear 

Mind's  sphere 

Is  not  here ; 

The  Ideal  guest 

In  ceaseless  quest 

Pursues  the  Best  : 

The  very  Better  m 

The  while  her  fetter, 

Her  desire 

Higher,  still  higher ; 

Ever  is  fleeing 

Past  Seeming  to  Being; 

Nor  doth  the  sight  content  itself  with  seeing, 
As  forms  emerge  they  fast  from  sense  are  fleeing, 
Things  but  appear  to  vanish  into  Being. 


JUNE.  157 

So  the  Greeks  represented  thought  in  their  winged 
god,  Hermes,  as  the  father  of  speech  and  messenger  of 
intelligence ;  they  conceiving  the  visible  world  as  a 
globe  of  forms,  whereby  objects  of  thought  were  pictured 
to  sense,  and  held  forth  to  fancy, — a  geometry  of  ideas, 
a  rhetoric  of  images. 

Sallying  forth  into  nature,  the  mind  clothes  its  ideas 
in  fitting  images,  and  thus  reflects  itself  upon  the  un 
derstanding.  Things  are  symbols  of  thoughts,  and 
nature  the  mind's  dictionary. 

Mind  omnipresent  is, 

All  round  about  us  lies, 

To  fashion  forth  itself 

In  thought  and  ecstacy, 

In  fancy  and  surprise, 

Things  with  ideas  fraught, 

And  nature  our  dissolving  thought. 


GOETHE. 

WEDNESDAY,  23. 

"As  good 
Not  write  as  not  be  understood." 

YET  the  deepest  truths  are  best  read  between  the 
lines,  and,  for  the  most  part,  refuse  to  be  writ 
ten.  Who  tells  all  tells  falsely.  There  are  untold 
subtleties  in  things  seen  as  unseen.  Only  the  idealist 
touches  the  core  of  their  secret  tenderly,  and  extracts 
the  mystery  ;  Nature,  like  the  coy  Isis,  disclosing  these 

- 


158  CONCOED  DATS. 

to  none  else.  Most  edifying  is  the  author  who  sug 
gests,  and  leaves  to  his  reader  the  pleasure  and  profit 
of  following  his  thought  into  its  various  relations  with 
the  whole  of  things,  thus  stimulating  him  to  explore 
matters  to  their  issues.  The  great  masters  have 
observed  this  fine  law,  and  of  modern  scholars 
especially  Goethe. 

For  whether  considered  as  poet  or  naturalist,  he  is  our 
finest  example  of  the  reverent  faith  in  nature  and  tender 
ness  of  treatment  that  becomes  her  student  and  devo 
tees.  And  hence  the  rich  spoils  and  prime  suggestions 
with  which  he  charms  and  rewards  in  his  books.  Wooed 
in  this  spirit,  nature  vouchsafed  him  the  privilege  of 
reading  her  secrets.  An  eye-witness  of  the  facts,  he 
had  the  magic  pen  to  portray  them  as  they  rose  midway 
between  matter  and  mind,  there  caught  them  lovingly 
and  held  them  forth  in  intertwisted  myths  and  gay 
marriages  to  the  sense  and  sentiment  of  his  reader. 
Writing  faithfully  to  the  form  of  things,  he  yet  had  a 
finer  moral  than  these  could  deliver ;  the  vein  of  quiet 
mysticism  in  which  he  delighted,  giving  a  graceful  charm 
to  the  writing.  How  finely  his  senses  symbolized  his 
thought,  and  his  eye  how  Olympian  !  What  subtle  per 
ception  of  the  contraries  in  character  !  He  has  treated 
the  strife  of  the  Worst  for  the  Best,  the  problem  of  evil, 
more  cunningly  than  any  ;  than  Moses  ;  than  the  author 
of  Job  of  Uz  ;  than  Milton,  the  Puritan,  fitted  as  he  was 
alike  by  birth  and  culture  to  deal  with  this  world  fable, 
—  his  faith  in  nature  being  so  entire,  his  rare  gifts  at 


159 

instant  command  for  rendering  perfect  copies  of  what 
he  saw,  and  loved  to  represent  in  its  truthfulness  to 
sense  and  soul  alike.  A  seer  of  Spirit,  the 
draughtsman  of  guile ;  to  him  sat  the  demons  gladly, 
and  he  sketched  their  likenesses,  —  portraits  of  the 
dualities  he  knew  so  well ;  the  same  with  which  most 
are  too  familiar ;  the  drama  of  the  temptation  being 
coeval  with  man,  the  catastrophe  thus  far  repeated  dis 
astrous^,  the  striving  of  the  Many  against  the  One,  the 
world-spirit  bribing  the  will,  proffering  the  present  de 
lights  for  the  future  pains.  Ah !  could  he  but  have 
found  himself  in  the  One,  whom,  with  such  surpassing 
skill  he  individualized,  but  failed  to  impersonate.  His 
aloofness  from  life,  his  residence  in  the  Many,  his  ina 
bility  to  identify  himself  with  the  whole  of  things,  — 
this  duplicity  of  genius  denied  him  free  admittance  to 
unity.  Cunning  he  was,  not  wise  in  the  simplicity  of 
wisdom.  As  the  Fates  conceived,  so  they  slew  him, 
yet  by  subtleties  so  siren,  as  to  persuade  him  of  an  im 
mortality  not  theirs  to  bestow.  All  he  was,  his  Faust 
celebrates  —  admitted  to  heaven,  as  Goethe  to  glory, 
without  the  fee  that  opens  honestly  its  gates. 

Oh,  artist  of  beauty !  Couldst  thou  but  have  been 
equal  to  portray  the  Spirit  of  spirits  as  cunningly  as  of 
Matter !  But  it  was  the  temper  of  that  age  of  tran 
sition,  and  thou  wast  its  priest  and  poet. 

But  whatever  his  deficiencies,  he  has  been  one  of  the 
world's  teachers,  and  is  to  be  for  some  time  to  come. 
The  spirit  and  movement  of  an  age  are  embodied  in  his 


160  CON-COED  DATS. 

books,  and  one  reads  with  a  growing  reverence  at  every 
perusal  of  the  mind  that  saw  and  has  portrayed  the 
world-spirit  so  well.  If  not  the  man  complete  that  in 
our  admiration  of  his  genius  we  could  desire,  he  yet 
was  faithful  to  the  law  of  his  pen,  and  therewith  justifies 
his  existence  to  mankind.  Nor  do  I  find  any  of  his 
contemporaries  who  made  as  much  of  this  human  life 
during  his  century.  "  Light,  more  light !  "  With  this 
request  he  passed  behind  the  clouds  into  the  fullest 
radiance. 


CARLYLE. 

The  ancients  accepted  in  good  faith  the  sway  of  Fate, 
or  Temperament,  in  their  doctrine  of  Destinies,  hereby 
signifying  that  duplicity  or  polarity  of  forces  operative 
in  man's  Will  by  which  his  personal  freedom  is  abridged, 
if  not  overridden.  Nor  does  it  appear  that  they  con 
ceived  deliverance  possible  from  this  dread  Nemesis  of 
existence ;  it  was  wrought  into  the  substance  of  their 
tragedies,  binding  matter  and  mind  alike  in  chains. 
If  the  modern  thought  professes  to  be  freed  from  this 
Old  Fatalism,  it  practically  admits  it,  nevertheless ; 
man's  will  being  still  bound  in  fetters  by  inexorable 
powers,  which  his  Choice  can  neither  propitiate  nor 
overcome.  If  Goethe  treats  the  matter  more  forcibty, 
sharply,  his  dealing  differs  but  in  form  from  the  Pagan ; 
man  is  the  spoil  of  the  demons  stilL  Satan  is  sup 
pressed  for  the  moment  to  be  victorious  in  the  end. 


JUNE.  161 

Carlyle  only  renders  it  the  more  inexorable  and  dis 
maying  by  all  his  wealth  of  thought,  force  of  illustra 
tion,  his  formidable  historical  figures,  dramatic  genius. 
It  is  force  pitted  against  force  that  he  celebrates 
throughout  his  embattled  pages  ;  a  victim  himself  with 
his  heroes,  yet  like  them  never  the  victor  ;  all  irritants, 
but  not  quellers  of  the  demon ;  fixed  forces  in  transi 
tion  times. 

Only  seen  from  this,  his  habitual  standpoint  and  out 
look,  is  he  justified  as  the  consistent  realist,  holding 
fast  his  faith  in  the  actual  facts  of  the  world,  their 
rigorous  following  to  the  remotest  issues,  —  the  most 
heroic*,  of  thinkers.  What  if,  with  these  dread  con 
victions  and  insights  of  his,  he  paint  out  of  all  keeping 
with  the  actual  facts  ;  he  is  following  logically  his  per 
suasions  of  the  destinies  that  sway  human  concerns, 
abating  not  an  iota  of  the  letter  of  the  text  of  the  dread 
decalogue,  whether  for  the  wicked  or  the  weak ;  defend 
ing  his  view  of  the  right  at  all  costs  whatsoever. 
Justice  first,  mercy  afterwards.  His  books  opened 
anywhere  show  him  berating  the  wrong  he  sees,  but 
seldom  the  means  of  removing.  There  is  ever  the 
same  melancholy  advocacy  of  work  to  be  done  under 
the  dread  master :  force  of  strokes,  the  right  to  rule 
and  be  ruled,  the  dismal  burden.  He  rides  his  Levi 
athan  as  fiercely  as  did  his  countryman,  Hobbes ;  can 
be  as  truculent  and  abusive.  Were  he  not  thus  fatalty 
in  earnest,  we  should  take  him  for  the  harlequin  he 
often  seems,  not  seeing  the  sorrowing  sadness  thus 


162  CONCORD  DATS. 

playing  off  its  load  in  this  grotesque  mirth,  this  scornful 
irony  of  his ;  he  painting  in  spite  of  himself  his  por 
traits  in  the  warmth  of  admiration,  the  blaze  of  wrath, 
giving  us  mythology  for  history  mostly. 

Yet  with  what  breadth  of  perspective  he  paints  these  ! 
strength  of  outline,  the  realism  appalling,  the  egotism 
enormous,  —  all  history  showing  in  the  background  of 
his  one  figure,  Caiiyle,  —  Burns,  Goethe,  Richter,  Mi- 
rabeau,  Luther,  Cromwell,  Frederick,  —  all  dashed  from 
his  flashing  pen,  —  heads  of  himself  alike  in  their  un- 
likeness,  prodigiously  individual,  wilful,  some  of  them 
monstrous ;  all  Englishmen,  too,  with  their  egregious 
prejudices,  prides  ;  no  patience,  no  repose  in  any.  He 
brandishes  his  truncheon  through  his  pages  with  an 
adroitness  that  renders  it  unsafe  for  any,  save  the  few 
wielding  weapons  of  celestial  temper,  to  do  battle 
against  Abaddon. 

Nor  will  he  be  silenced  ;  talking  terribly  against  all 
talking  but  his  own ;  agreeing,  disagreeing,  all  the 
same,  he  the  Jove  permitting  none,  none,  to  mount 
Olympus  till  the  god  deign  silence  and  invite.  Curious 
to  see  him  monologizing,  his  chin  aloft,  the  pent  thunders 
rolling,  lightnings  darting  from  under  his  bold  brows, 
words  that  tell  of  the  wail  within,  accents  not  meant 
for  music,  yet  made  lyrical  in  the  cadences  of  his 
Caledonian  refrain,  his  inirth  mad  as  Lear's,  his  humor 
wilful  as  the  winds.  Not  himself  then  is  approachable 
by  himself  even. 

A  lovable  man,  nevertheless,  with  a  great  heart  in  his 


JUNE.  163 

breast,  sympathies  the  kindliest,  deepest,  nor  indifferent 
to  the  ills  the  flesh  is  heir  to.  Why,  oh  ye  powers,  this 
wretchedness  amidst  the  means  superabounding  for  re 
lieving  and  preventing  it  ?  Why  this  taking  up  reform 
forever  from  the  beggar  and  felon  side,  as  if  these  were 
sole  credentials  to  sympathy,  essential  elements  of  the 
social  state  ?  Rather  let  force,  persistent  yet  beneficent, 
be  brought  to  bear  upon  mankind,  giving  alike  to  prince 
and  people  the  dutiful  drill  that  alone  equips  for  the 
tasks  of  life,  —  this  were  the  State's  duty,  the  province 
of  rulers ;  a  thing  to  set  about  at  once  with  the  vigor 
of  righteousness  that  justice  demands  for  the  rule  of 
the  world. 

The  way  of  Imperialism  this,  and  playing  Providence 
harshly.  lie  mistakes  in  commending  absoluteisra  to  re 
publicans,  especially  in  times  like  ours.  England,  even, 
imperial  as  she  is,  is  too  intelligent  and  free  to  accept  it. 
America  certainly  cannot.  If  he  would  but  believe  in 
the  people,  divide  his  faith  in  hero-worship  with  masses, 
also.  But  it  is  not  easy  for  a  Briton  to  comprehend 
properly  republican  institutions  like  ours.  Nothing 
short  of  success  against  large  odds  can  convince  him 
of  the  feasibility,  the  safety  of  a  popular  government. 

"  Success,  success ;  to  thce,  to  thee, 
As  to  a  god,  he  bends  the  knee." 

Not  one  of  his  heroes  would  serve  our  turn.  Fred 
erick  were  perhaps  a  fit  captain  to  dominate  over  a 
brute  multitude ;  Cromwell  might  serve  in  a  state  of 


164  CONCOED  DATS. 

revolution,  but  must  fail  altogether  at  reconstruction. 
Even  Milton,  the  republican,  would  hardly  avail  with 
republicans  freed  from  the  old  British  love  of  sway. 

It  is  not  safe  for  any  to  dwell  long  on  Sinai,  leaving 
the  multitudes  meanwhile  to  their  idolatries  below.  In 
rigors  thus  austere  the  humanities  perish.  Justice  and 
mercy  must  alike  conspire  in  the  fulfiinent  of  the  deca 
logue,  lest  vengeance  break  the  tables  and  shatter  the 
divine  image  also. 

"  When  heaven  would  save  a  man,  it  encircles  him 
with  compassion." 


JULY. 


:  O  tenderly  tlie  haughty  day 

Fills  his  blue  urn  with  fire; 
One  morn  is  in  the  mighty  heaven, 
And  one  in  our  desire." 

—  Emerson. 


A 


INDEPENDENCE    DAY. 

SUNDAY,  4. 

ND  the  republic  now  begins  to  look  sweet  and 
beautiful  again,  as  if  men  and  patriotic  citizens 
might  walk  upright  without  shame  or  apologies  of  any 
sort.  Having  managed  for  a  century  or  more  to  keep 
the  black  man  under  foot,  provoked  a  war  to  this  end, 
and,  in  our  straits,  availed  of  his  life  to  spare  ours,  let 
us  cherish  the  faith  that  we  are  bent  honestly  now  on 
securing  him  the  rights  which  his  courage  and  loyalty 
have  won  for  him  and  his  while  the  republic  stands. 
Was  this  slaughter  of  men  and  expenditure  of  treasure, 
with  the  possible  woes  to  come,  necessary  to  make  us 
just  ?  And  shall  we  not  be  careful  hereafter  that  polit 
ical  parties  play  not  false  as  before  the  war ;  the  cry 
for  union  and  reconstruction  but  a  specious  phrase  for 
reinstating  the  old  issues  under  new  names  ?  Admitted 
into  the  Union,  the  once  rebellious  States  may  break 
out  into  new  atrocities  for  recovering  their  fallen  for 
tunes.  It  behooves  the  friends  of  freedom  and  human 
rights  to  know  their  friends,  and  trust  those,  and  only 


168  CONCORD  DATS. 

those,  who  have  proved  themselves  faithful  in  the  dire 
struggle,  — 

"Who  faithful  in  insane  sedition  keep, 
With  silver  and  with  ruddy  gold  may  vie." 

In  democratic  times  like  ours,  when  Power  is  steal 
ing  the  world  over  from  the  few  to  the  many,  and  with 
an  impetus  unprecedented  in  the  world's  history,  the 
rightful  depositories  of  Power,  the  People,  should  make 
sure  that  their  representatives  are  fitted  alike  and  dis 
posed  to  administer  affairs  honorably ;  the  rule  being 
that  of  the  Best  by  the  Best,  —  an  aristocracy  in  essence 
as  in  name  ;  since  no  calamity  can  befall  a  people  like 
the  want  of  good  heads  to  give  it  stability  and  self- 
respect  in  its  own,  or  consideration  in  the  eyes  of 
foreign  beholders.  Ideas  are  the  royal  Presidents ; 
States  and  peoples  intelligent  and  prosperous  as  they 
are  loyal  to  these  Potentates.  Liberty  is  the  highest 
of  trusts  committed  to  man  by  his  Creator,  and  in  the 
enjoyment  of  which  man  becomes  himself  a  creator,  — 
a  trust  at  once  the  most  sacred  and  most  difficult  to 
hold  inviolate.  "  Power  is  a  fillet  that  presses  so  hard 
the  temples  that  few  can  take  it  up  safely."  Right  is 
the  royal  ruler  alone,  and  he  who  rules  with  least 
restraint  comes  nearest  to  empire. 

And  one  of  the  most  hopeful  aspects  of  our  national 
affairs  is  the  coming  into  importance  and  power  of 
plain,  sensible  men,  like  Grant  and  Boutwell,  —  men 
owing  their  places  to  their  honesty  and  useful  services, 


JULY.  169 

—  the  one  in  the  field,  the  other  in  the  state.  Our  vil 
lage,  also,  is  honored  by  the  elevation  of  one  of  its  dis 
tinguished  citizens  for  his  eminent  legal  attainments  and 
personal  integrity.  This  change  for  the  better  in  our 
politics,  it  seems,  came  in  with  President  Lincoln,  him 
self  the  plainest  of  the  plain,  one  of  the  most  Ameri 
can  of  American  men ;  is  (after  his  successor's  lamen 
table  career)  now  reinstated  in  our  present  chief 
magistrate,  whose  popularity  is  scarcely  secondary  to 
any  of  his  predecessors  in  the  Presidential  Chair.  Our 
national  politics  have  obviously  improved  in  these 
respects  upon  later  administrations,  and  we  may  rea 
sonably  hope  for  the  prevalence  of  peace  and  prosperity, 
such  as  the  country  has  not  enjo}7ed  since  the  times  of 
Washington  and  Franklin.  The  reign  of  principle 
appears  to  have  returned  into  the  administration  of 
affairs,  honorable  men  taking  the  lead,  soften 
ing,  in  large  measure,  the  asperities  and  feuds  of 
parties.  Great  questions  affecting  the  welfare  of  the 
community,  and  for  the  solution  of  which  the  ablest 
heads  are  requisite,  are  coming  into  discussion,  and 
are  to  be  settled  for  the  benefit,  we  trust,  of  all  con 
cerned.  Reform  in  capital  and  labor,  temperance, 
woman's  social  and  political  condition,  popular  educa 
tion,  powers  of  corporations,  international  communica 
tion,  —  these  and  the  new  issues  which  their  settlement 
will  effect,  must  interest  and  occupy  the  active 
forces  of  the  country  to  plant  the  republic,  upon 
stable  foundations. 
8 


170  CONCORD  DAYS. 

i(  An  early,  good  education,"  says  Gray,  in  his  notes 
on  Plato's  Republic,  "  is  the  best  means  of  turning  the 
eyes  of  the  mind  from  the  darkness  and  uncertainty  of 
popular  opinion,  to  the  clear  light  of  truth.  It  is  the 
interest  of  the  public  neither  to  suffer  unlettered  and 
unphilosophical  minds  to  meddle  with  government,  nor 
to  allow  men  of  knowledge  to  give  themselves  up  for 
the  whole  of  life  to  contemplation  ;  as  the  first  will  lack 
principle  to  guide  them,  and  others  want  practice  and 
inclination  to  business."  One  might  also  commend  to 
senators  and  representatives  this  sentence  from  Tacitus  : 
44 1  speak,"  he  says,  "  of  popular  eloquence,  the  genuine 
offspring  of  that  licentiousness  to  which  fools  and  de 
signing  men  have  given  the  name  of  liberty.  I  speak 
of  that  bold  and  turbulent  oratory,  that  inflamer  of  the 
people,  and  constant  companion  of  sedition,  that  fierce 
incendiary  that  knows  no  compliance,  and  scorns  to 
temporize,  —  busy,  rash,  and  arrogant,  but,  in  quiet 
and  well  -  regulated  governments,  utterly  unknown." 
Yet  I  cannot  say  that  I  should  have  written,  with  my 
present  notion  of  political  or  religious  obligation,  what 
follows  :  "  Upon  the  whole,  since  no  man  can  enjoy  a 
state  of  calm  tranquillity,  and,  at  the  same  time,  raise  a 
great  and  splendid  reputation  ;  to  be  content  with  the 
benefits  of  the  age  in  which  we  live,  without  detracting 
from  our  ancestors,  is  the  virtue  that  best  becomes  us." 
The  sentiment  has  a  patriotic  sound,  but  conceals  the 
cardinal  truth,  dear  to  a  patriot,  certainly  in  our  times 
and  republic,  that  a  calm  tranquillity  is  hardly  compati- 


JULY.  171 

ble  with  a  life  of  heroic  action,  and  that  true  progress, 
so  far  from  detracting  from  the  glory  of  our  ancestors, 
carries  forward  that  for  which  they  battled  and  bled, 
to  clothe  them  and  their  descendants  with  a  fresher  and 
more  enduring  fame.  Not  in  imitation  of  such  inflamers 
of  the  people,  but  in  the  spirit  of  liberty  and  loyalty, 
have  Sumner  and  Phillips  won  great  and  splendid  rep 
utations,  if  not  silenced  the  fools  and  designing 
men  whose  bold  and  turbulent  oratory,  the  genuine 
offspring  of  licentiousness,  once  sounded  in  our  na 
tional  halls,  and  came  near  the  separation  of  our 
Union. 

Whom  did  the  people  trust? 

Not  those,  the  false  confederates  of  State, 

Who  laid  their  country's  fortunes  desolate ; 

Plucked  her  fair  ensigns  down  to  seal  the  black  man's  fate; 

Not  these  secured  their  trust. 

But  they,  the  generous  and  the  just, 

Who,  nobly  free  and  truly  great, 

Served  steadfast  still  the  servant  race 

As  masters  in  the  menial's  place ; 

By  their  dark  brothers  strove  to  stand 

Till  owners  these  of  mind  and  hand, 

And  freedom's  banners  waved  o'er  an  enfranchised  land. 

These  were  the  nation's  trust,  — 
The  patriots  brave  and  just. 


172  CONCORD  DATS. 

PHILLIPS. 

"  Some  men  such  rare  parts  have  that  they  can  swim 
If  favor  nor  occasion  hely  not  them." 

Phillips  stands  conspicuous  above  most  of  his  time, 
as  the  advocate  of  human  rights,  the  defender  of  the 
oppressed.  By  happy  fortune,  he  enjoys  the  privilege 
denied  to  senators,  of  speaking  unencumbered  by  con 
vention  or  caucus.  His  speeches  have  the  highest 
qualities  of  an  orator.  In  range  of  thought,  clearness 
of  statement,  keen  satire,  brilliant  wit,  personal  anec 
dote,  wholesome  moral  sentiment,  the  Puritan  spirit, 
they  are  unmatched  by  any  of  the  great  orators  of  his 
time.  They  have,  besides,  the  rare  merit,  and  one  in 
which  our  public  men  have  been  painfully  deficient,  of 
straightforwardness  and  truth  to  the  hour.  They  are 
addressed  to  the  conscience  of  the  country,  are  spoken 
in  the  interest  of  humanity.  Many  a  soldier  in  the 
field  during  the  late  war,  many  a  citizen  owes  his  loy 
alty  to  hearing  his  eloquent  words. 

Above  party,  unless  it  be  the  honorable  and  ancient 
party  of  mankind,  they  embody  the  temper  and  drift  of 
the  times.  How  many  public  men  are  here  to  survive 
in  the  pillory  of  his  indignant  invectives  !  The  history 
of  the  last  thirty  years  cannot  be  accurately  written 
without  his  facts  and  anecdotes.  There  is  no  great  in 
terest  of  philanthropy  in  which  he  has  not  been,  and 
still  is,  active.  His  words  are  to  be  taken  as  those  of 
an  earnest  mind  intent  on  furthering  the  ends  of  justice, 


JULY.  173 

interpreted  not  by  their  rhetoric,  but  strict  adherence 
to  principle.  Certainly  the  country  has  at  times  hung 
in  the  balance  of  his  argument ;  cabinets  and  councils 
hesitating  to  do  or  undo  without  some  regard  to  his 
words,  well  knowing  the  better  constituency  which  he 
better  represents  and  speaks  for,  —  the  people,  namely, 
whose  breath  can  unmake  as  it  has  made. 

An  earnest,  truthful  man,  he  has  not  shared  with 
other  statesmen  of  his  time  in  their  indifferency  nor 
their  despair;  and  if  by  some  esteemed  a  dema 
gogue  and  disorganize^  such  is  not  his  estimate  of 
the  part  taken  by  him  in  the  great  issues  of  the  past, 
political  and  social.  The  friend  of  progress,  he  early 
threw  himself  into  the  conflict,  addressed  himself  to 
the  issues  as  they  rose,  rose  with  them  and  rode  the  wave 
bravely  ;  sometimes  hastening,  oftentimes  provoking  the 
crisis.  What  States  would  not  adventure  upon  as  policy, 
he  espoused  as  policy  and  humanity  both.'  Addressing 
himself  from  the  first  to  the  great  middle  class,  whose 
principles  are  less  corrupted  by  party  politics,  in 
whom  the  free  destiny  of  peoples  is  lodged,  he  is 
gathering  the  elements  of  power  and  authority  which, 
becoming  formidable  in  ability  if  not  in  numbers,  must 
secure  the  country's  confidence,  and  in  due  time  have 
political  dictation  and  rule. 

Then,  of  the  new  instrumentalities  for  agitation  and 
reform,  the  free  Platform  derives  largely  its  popularity 
and  efficiency  from  his  genius.  Consider  the  freedom 
of  speech  it  invites  and  maintains,  free  as  the  freest  can 


174  CONCORD  DATS. 

make  it,  a  stand  whereon  every  one  who  will  gains  a 
hearing  ;  every  opinion  its  widest  scope  of  entertainment, 
—  the  widest  hospitality  consistent  with  the  decorum  of 
debate.  Hither  comes  any  one  breathing  a  sentiment  of 
progress,  any  daring  to  dissent  against  dissent,  against 
progress  itself.  Here  the  sexes  meet  on  fair  terms. 
Here,  as  not  elsewhere,  is  intimated,  if  not  spoken  fit 
tingly,  the  popular  spirit  and  tendency.  Here  come  the 
most  effective  speakers  by  preference  to  address  a 
free  constituency,  a  constituency  to  be  theirs,  if  not 
already,  their  words  leaping  into  type  from  their  lips, 
to  be  spread  forthwith  to  the  four  winds  by  the  report 
ing  press.  'T  is  a  school  of  debate,  for  oratory,  for 
thought,  for  practice ;  has  the  remarkable  merit  of 
freshness,  originality;  questions  affecting  the  public 
welfare  being  here  anticipated,  first  deliberated  upon 
by  the  people  themselves  ;  systems  of  agitation  organ 
ized  and  set  on  foot  for  creating  a  wholesome  popular 
sentiment ;  in  short,  for  giving  inspiration,  a  culture,  to 
the  country,  which  the  universities  cannot ;  training  the 
reason  and  moral  sense  by  direct  dealing  with  princi 
ples  and  persons  as  occasion  requires ;  a  school  from 
whence  have  graduated  not  a  few  of  our  popular 
speakers,  —  the  Orator  himself,  whose  speeches  furnish 
passages  for  collegiate  declamation,  from  which  politi 
cians  plume  their  rhetoric  to  win  a  borrowed  fame. 
Cato  said,  "  An  orator  was  a  good  man  skilled  in  the 
art  of  speaking." 

More  than  any  lecturer,  unless  it  be  Emerson,  he  has 


JULY.  175 

made  the  lecture  a  New-England,  if  not  an  American 
institution ;  is  always  heard  with  profit  and  pleasure 
by  the  unprejudiced  auditor, —  any  course  in  the  cities 
and  towns  being  thought  incomplete  without  his.  Nor 
is  it  easy  to  estimate  the  debt  of  the  free  States  to  his 
speeches  before  associations,  conventions,  in  pulpits,  the 
humblest  places  where  his  words  could  be  secured.  He 
has  already  taken  his  place  beside  Garrison,  has  linked 
his  name  with  the  Liberator's,  to  be  on  men's  lips  while 
the  word  slave  has  significance. 

If  there  be  any  one  to  whom  the  country  is  more 
largely  indebted  than  another  for  eminent  services  in 
his  day,  it  must  be  Garrison ;  unless  a  doubt  may 
arise  in  the  minds  of  some,  if  the  hero  of  Harper's 
Ferry  be  not  entitled  to  like  honors,  since  to  these 
illustrious  men  must  be  attributed  the  merit  of  having 
struck  the  most  effective  blows  for  the  overthrow  of 
slavery,  the  one  inaugurating  the  era  of  emancipation, 
and  the  other  consummating  it. 

"  The  just  man 's  like  a  rock,  that  turns  the  wroth 
Of  all  the  raging  waters  into  a  froth." 

The  agitation  and  outside  pressure  which  they  were 
chiefly  instrumental  in  furthering  to  its  rightful  issues, 
were  the  most  powerful  auxiliaries,  if  not  the  power 
itself,  which  emancipated  the  mind  of  the  country  from 
its  subserviency  to  the  slave  dominion.  They  were  the 
creators  of  the  sentiment  that  freed  the  negro  at  last 
from  his  bonds  and  cleared  the  way  for  a  true  Republi 
can  State.  Some  power  superior  to  the  Constitution 


176  CONCORD  DAYS. 

was  required  to  revise  it,  and  free  the  whole  people 
from  this  Arachne's  coil  that  had  bound  them  so  long  ; 
was  especially  needed  to  extricate  the  rulers  themselves 
from  its  meshes,  and  to  rescue  the  rights  thus  im 
perilled  by  unscrupulous  placemen  who  shrunk  from  the 
task.  These  could  not  help  them,  caught  in  the  same 
snare  that  bound  the  nation.  "  Neither  the  law,  nor  the 
Constitution,  nor  the  whole  system  of  American  institu 
tions,"  they  were  told,  "  ever  had  contemplated  a  case  as 
likely  to  arise  under  our  system  in  which  a  resort  would 
be  necessary  to  provide  outside  of  the  law  and  Constitu 
tion  for  amending  the  Constitution."  The  case  arose, 
nevertheless,  and  was  provided  for  by  these  powerful 
agitators,  and  by  the  progress  of  events.  The  late  civil 
outbreak  compelled  the  necessary  amendments,  sweeping 
the  compromises,  the  slave  Congress  and  territory  from 
the  statute  books  and  the  country  itself. 

"  Principles  like  fountains  flow  round  forever, 
Being  in  a  state  of  perpetual  agitation." 

"  To  all  new  truths,  all  renovations  of  old  truths,"  says 
Coleridge,  t(pit  must  be  as  in  the  ark  between  the  destroyed 
and  the  about-to-be-renovated  world.  The  raven  must 
be  sent  out  before  the  dove,  and  ominous  controversy 
must  precede  peace  and  the  olive  wreath." 

GREELEY. 

Of  political  editors,  next  to  Garrison,  perhaps  Horace 
Greeley  was  the  most  efficient  in  furthering  this  national 
result ;  and  by  his  eminent  services  in  various  depart- 


JULY.  Ill 

ments  of  activit}-  comes  nearest  to  being  the  people's 
man,  the  best  representative  of  character  indigenous  to 
New  England,  or  more  properly  America  —  likeBeecher 
and  Phillips.  His  power  appears  to  lie  in  his  strong 
understanding,  abundant  information,  plain  state 
ment  of  his  facts,  freed  from  all  rhetorical  embellish 
ment.  A  rustic  Franklin  in  his  direct  way  of  putting  his 
things  before  his  auditor,  he  makes  plain  his  meaning  in 
spite  of  his  utter  want  of  all  graces  of  person,  or  of  ora 
tory,  handling  his  subject  as  a  rude  farmer  his  axe  and 
crowbar.  There  is  about  him  a  homely  charm  of  good 
nature,  a  child-like  candor,  that  have  all  the  effect  of 
eloquence,  elevating  him  for  the  time  into  the  subject 
he  treats.  In  the  statistics  of  things,  practical  and 
political,  he  is  a  kind  of  living  encyclopedia  of  infor 
mation,  and  as  his  chief  distinction  has  made  the  news 
paper  a  power  it  had  not  been  before. 

May  we  not  credit  New  England  with  giving  the 
country  these  new  Instrumentalities  for  Progress, 
viz. :  — 

Greeley,  the  Newspaper ; 
Garrison,  a  free  Platform  ; 
Phillips,  a  free  Convention  ; 
Beecher,  a  free  Pulpit ; 
Emerson,  the  Lecture  ? 

The  Conversation  awaits  being  added  to  the  list. 


178  CONCORD  DAYS. 


o 


AGE    OF    IRON    AND    BRONZE. 

FRIDAY,  9. 

URS  can  hardly  claim  to  be  the  Golden  Age,  but 
of  Bronze  and  Iron  rather.  If  ideas  are  in  the 
ascendant,  still  mind  is  fettered  by  mechanism.  We 
scale  the  heavens  to  grade  the  spaces.  Messrs.  Capital 
&  Co.  transact  our  business  for  us  the  globe  over. 
Was  it  in  the  Empire  News  that  I  read  the  com 
pany's  advertisement  for  supplying  mankind  with 
gas  at  a  penny  per  diem  annually?  And  then, 
proceeding  to  say,  "that  considering  the  old-time 
monopoly  in  the  heavenly  luminary,  the  corporation  has 
constructed  at  fabulous  cost  their  Brazen  Cope  to  shut 
down  upon  the  horizon  at  day-break  punctually,  and  so 
graduate  to  each  customer's  tube  his  just  allowance, 
else  darkness  for  delinquents  the  year  round." 

Certainly  a  splendid  conception  for  distributing  sun 
beams  by  the  Globe  Corporation  if  the  solar  partner 
consent  to  the  speculation.  Had  Hesiod  the  enterprise 
in  mind  when  he  sung,  — 

"  Seek  virtue  first,  and  after  virtue,  coin  "  ? 

Or  St.  Paul,  when  writing  concerning  labor  and  cap 
ital  :  "  For  I  would  not,"  he  says,  "  that  other  men 
should  be  eased  and  you  burdened,  but  by  an  equality 
that  now  at  the  time  your  abundance  may  be  a  supply 
for  their  want,  that  their  abundance  may  also  be  a 


JULY.  179 

supply  for  your  want,  that  there  may  be  an  equality,  as 
it  is  written,  He  that  had  gathered  much,  had  noth 
ing  over,  and  he  that  had  gathered  little,  had  no  lack. 
If  any  man  will  not  work,  neither  should  he  eat." 

Any  attempt  to  simplify  and  supply  one's  wants  by 
abstinence  and  self-help  is  in  the  most  hopeful  direc 
tion,  and  serviceable  to  the  individual  whether  his  ex 
periment  succeed  or  not,  the  practice  of  most,  from 
the  beginning,  having  been  to  multiply  rather  than 
diminish  one's  natural  wants,  and  thus  to  become  poor 
at  the  cost  of  becoming  rich.  u  Who  has  the  fewest 
wants,"  said  Socrates,  "  is  most  like  God." 

"Who  wishes,  wants,  and  whoso  wants  is  poor." 

Our  "  Fruitlands  "  was  an  adventure  undertaken  in 
good  faith  for  planting  a  Family  Order  here  in  New 
England,  in  hopes  of  enjoying  a  pastoral  life  with  a  few 
devoted  men  and  women,  smitten  with  sentiments  of  the 
old  heroism  and  love  of  holiness  and  of  humanity.  But 
none  of  us  were  prepared  to  actualize  practically  the 
ideal  life  of  which  we  dreamed.  So  we  fell  apart,  some 
returning  to  the  established  ways,  some  soured  by  the 
trial,  others  postponing  the  fulfilment  of  his  dream  to 
a  more  propitious  future.* 


*  "  FRDITLAND8. 

"  We  have  received  a  communication  from  Messrs.  Alcott  and  Lane,  dated 
from  their  farm,  Fruitlands,  in  Harvard,  Massachusetts,  from  which  we 
make  the  following  extract :  — 

"  '  We  have  made  an  arrangement  with  the  proprietor  of  an  estate  of  about 
a  hundred  acres,  which  liberates  this  tract  from  human  ownership.  For 


180  CONCOED  DAYS. 

I  certainly  esteem  it  an  inestimable  privilege  to 
have  been  bred  to  outdoor  labors,  the  use  of  tools,  and 
to  find  myself  the  owner  of  a  garden,  with  the  advan 
tage  of  laboring  sometimes  besides  my  faithful  Irish 
man,  and  compare  views  of  men  and  things  with  him. 
I  think  myself  the  greater  gainer  of  the  two  by  this 
intercourse.  Unbiassed  by  books,  and  looking  at 
things  as  they  stand  related  to  his  senses  and  simple 
needs,  I  learn  naturally  what  otherwise  I  should  not 
have  known  so  well,  if  at  all.  The  sympathy  and 
sincerity  are  the  best  part  of  it.  One  sees  the  more 
clearly  his  social  relations  and  duties  ;  sees  the  need  of 


picturesque  beauty,  both  in  the  near  and  the  distant  landscape,  the  spot  has 
few  rivals.  A  semicircle  of  undulating  hills  stretches  from  south  to  west, 
among  which  the  "Wachusett  and  Monadnock  are  conspicuous.  The  vale, 
through  which  flows  a  tributary  to  the  Nashua,  is  esteemed  for  its  fertility 
and  ease  of  cultivation,  is  adorned  with  groves  of  nut  trees,  maples,  and 
pines,  and  watered  by  small  streams.  Distant  not  thirty  miles  from  the 
metropolis  of  New  England,  this  reserve  lies  in  a  serene  and  sequestered  dell. 
No  public  thoroughfare  invades  it,  but  it  is  entered  by  a  private  road.  The 
nearest  hamlet  is  that  of  Stillriver,  a  field's  walk  of  twenty  minutes,  and  the 
village  of  Harvard  is  reached  by  circuitous  and  hilly  roads  of  nearly  three 
miles. 

"  '  Here  we  prosecute  our  effort  to  initiate  a  Family  in  harmony  with  the 
primitive  instincts  in  man.  The  present  buildings  being  ill  placed  and  un 
sightly  as  well  as  inconvenient,  are  to  be  temporarily  used,  until  suitable 
and  tasteful  buildings  in  harmony  with  the  natural  scene  can  be  completed. 
An  excellent  site  offers  itself  on  the  skirts  of  the  nearest  wood,  affording 
shade  and  shelter,  and  commanding  a  view  of  the  lands  of  the  estate,  nearly 
all  of  which  are  capable  of  spade  culture.  It  is  intended  to  adorn  the  pas 
tures  with  orchards,  and  to  supersede  ultimately  the  labor  of  the  plough  and 
cattle,  by  the  spade  and  the  pruning-knife. 

"  '  Our  planting  and  other  works,  both  without  and  within  doors,  are  al 
ready  in  active  progress.  The  present  Family  numbers  ten  individuals,  five 


JULY.  181 

beneficent  reforms  in  the  economics  of  labor  and  capital 
by  which  the  working  classes  shall  have  their  just  claims 
allowed,  the  products  of  hand  and  brain  be  more  equit 
ably  distributed,  a  finer  sympathy  and  wiser  humanity 
prevail  in  the  disposition  of  affairs.  No  true  man  can 
be  indifferent  to  that  great  productive  multitude,  with 
out  whose  industry  capitalists  would  have  nothing  in 
which  to  invest ;  the  callings  and  the  professions  lack 
bread  and  occupation  alike.  Head  and  hands  best 
co-operate  in  this  interplay  of  services.  Every  gift,  be 
sides  enriching  its  owner,  should  enrich  the  whole  com- 
inunit}',  opportunities  be  opened  for  the  free  exercise 


being  children  of  the  founders.  Ordinary  secular  farming  is  not  our  object. 
Fruit,  grain,  pulse,  garden  plants  and  herbs,  flax  and  other  vegetable  pro 
ducts  for  food,  raiment,  and  domestic  uses,  receiving  assiduous  attention, 
afford  at  once  ample  manual  occupation,  and  chaste  supplies  for  the  bodily 
needs.  Consecrated  to  human  freedom,  the  land  awaits  the  sober  culture  of 
devout  men. 

"  '  Beginning  with  small  pecuniary  means,  this  enterprise  must  be  rooted 
in  a  reliance  on  the  succors  of  an  ever-bounteous  Providence,  whose  vital 
affinities  being  secured  by  this  union  with  uncorrupted  fields  and  unworldly 
persons,  the  cares  and  injuries  of  a  life  of  gain  are  avoided. 

" '  The  inner  nature  of  every  member  of  the  Family  is  at  no  time  neg 
lected.  A  constant  leaning  on  the  living  spirit  within  the  soul  should  conse 
crate  every  talent  to  holy  uses,  cherishing  the  widest  charities.  The  choice 
Library  (of  which  a  partial  catalogue  was  given  in  Dial  No.  XII)  is  acces 
sible  to  all  who  are  desirous  of  perusing  these  records  of  piety  and  wisdom. 
Our  plan  contemplates  all  such  disciplines,  cultures,  and  habits  as  evidently 
conduce  to  the  purifying  and  edifying  of  the  inmates.  Pledged  to  the  Spirit 
alone,  the  founders  can  anticipate  no  hasty  or  numerous  accession  to  their 
numbers.  The  kingdom  of  peace  is  entered  only  through  the  gates  of  self- 
denial  and  abandonment;  and  blessedness  is  the  test  and  the  reward  of 
obedience  to  the  unswerving  law  of  Love. —  The  Dial. 

"'JUNE  10,  1843."' 


182  CONCOED  DATS. 

of  all,  the  golden  rule  stand  for  something  besides 
an  idle  text.  Every  one  is  entitled  to  a  compe 
tence,  provided  he  employs  his  gifts  for  the  common 
good.  It  seems  but  right  that  the  gifted  should  return 
to  the  common  treasury  in  the  ratio  of  their  endow 
ments  ;  be  taxed  at  a  higher  rate  than  those  to  whom 
like  advantages  have  been  denied.  Indeed,  it  is  ques 
tionable  whether  the  man  who  is  poor  by  no  fault  of  his, 
should  be  taxed  at  all ;  give  him  citizenship  rather  as  an 
inborn  right,  as  a  man,  not  as  a  mere  producer.  Men  are 
loyal  from  other  considerations  than  self-interest.  One 
would  not  check  the  spirit  of  accumulation,  but  the 
monopoly  of  the  gift  for  the  sole  benefit  of  the  op 
pressor.  A  competence,  including  every  comfort,  and 
even  harmless  luxuries,  is  what  all  men  need,  all  desire, 
all  might  have,  were  there  a  fair  distribution  of  the 
avails  of  labor,  opportunities  for  labor  of  head  or  hand 
for  all,  —  the  right  to  be  educated  and  virtuous  included, 
as  the  most  important.  The  poor  man  cannot  compete, 
practically,  successfully,  with  the  rich  man,  the  laborer 
with  the  capitalist,  the  ignorant  with  the  instructed, — 
all  are  placed  at  unequal  odds,  the  victims  of  circum 
stances  which  they  did  not  create,  and  which  those  who 
do  may  use  to  their  injury  if  they  choose,  The  laborer 
is  broken  on  the  wheel  his  necessities  compel  him  to 
drive,  feeling  the  while  the  wrong  done  him  by  those 
whom  he  has  enriched  by  his  toil. 

No  tradition  assigns  a  beginning  to  justice,  but  only 
to  injustice.     Before  the  Silver,  the  Brazen,  the  Iron, 


JULY.  183 

comes  the  Golden  Age,  when  virtue  is  current,  and 
man  at  his  highest  value.  It  is  when  man  is  degraded 
that  virtue  and  justice  are  dishonored,  and  labor  deemed 
disreputable. 

Poverty  may  be  the  philosopher's  ornament.  Too 
rich  to  need,  and  self-respecting  to  receive  benefits, 
save  upon  terms  which  render  the  receiver  the  nobler 
giver,  he  revenges  upon  fortune  by  possessing  a  king 
dom  superior  to  mischance  and  incumbrance. 

The  gold  alone  but  gold  can  buy, 
Wisdom 's  the  sterling  currency. 


M 


CONVERSATION    ON    ENTHUSIASM.* 

WEDNESDAY,  14. 
R.  ALCOTT  began  the  conversation  by  referring 


to  that  of  Monday  before,  on  the  subject  of 
Temperament  and  Complexion,  and  added  other  fine 
thoughts  about  it. 

He  said,  perhaps  he  had  dwelt  too  much  on  the  sym 
bol  of  color,  but  conceived  himself  borne  out  in  all  he 
had  said.  "  The  Greeks  held  that  a  brown  complexion 
betokened  courage,  and  those  who  had  fair  skins  were 
called  children  of  light  and  favorites  of  the  gods.  And 
the  gods  themselves  were  demonic  or  divine,  as  tem 
pered  by  darkness  or  light,  —  the  gods  Infernal,  the 

*  Printed  from  notes  taken  by  a  lady  (Miss  Ariana  Walker)  at  the  time. 
The  conversation  was  held  in  Boston  in  December,  1849. 


184  CONCORD  DAYS. 

Midgods,  the  Celestials.  So  Christian  art  has  painted 
Satan  dark,  the  Christ  fair.  And  late  experiments  on 
the  sunbeam  showed  that  dark  substances  imprison  the 
rays,  —  these  absorbing  more  and  delivering  less.  The 
more  of  sun,  so  much  the  more  of  soul ;  the  less  of 
sun,  of  passion  more,  and  the  strange  fire.  He  fancied 
black  eyes  were  of  Oriental  descent,  were  tinged  less 
or  more  with  fairer  hues  in  crossing  West.  People  of 
sandy  hair  and  florid  complexions  were  of  Northern 
ancestry.  The  fusion  of  the  various  races  was  now 
taking  place,  blending  all,  doubtless,  into  a  more  har 
monious  and  beautiful  type. 

He  asked  if  there  did  not  lurk  in  the  fancy,  if  not  in 
our  atoms,  a  persuasion  that  complexion,  like  features, 
voice,  gait,  typified  and  emblazoned  personal  traits  of 
their  possessors,  if  the  rhetoric  of  morals  and  religion 
did  not  revel  in  like  distinctions.  "  Handsome  is  that 
handsome  does."  Beauty  was  the  birthright  of  all,  if 
not  their  inheritance.  It  was  shame  that  brought  de 
formity  into  the  world.  Every  child  accused,  he 
knew  not  whom,  for  any  blemish  of  his.  "  Why  not 
mine  the  happy  star,  too  ?  "  Still  some  trait  was  insin 
uated  into  the  least  favored,  and  stamped  upon  the 
embryonic  clay.  Ebony,  alabaster,  indigo,  vermil- 
lion,  the  pigments  were  all  mingled  as  purity  or  passion 
decreed.  Types  were  persistent,  family  features  stand 
ing  strong  for  centuries  and  perpetuating  themselves 
from  generation  to  generation.  Place  the  portraits  of  a 
long  line  of  ancestors  on  the  walls,  one's  features  were 


JULY.  185 

all  there,  with  the  slight  variations  arising  from  inter 
marriage,  degrees  of  culture,  calling,  climate. 

"  Our  faces  were  our  coats  of  arms." 

"Eyes  were  most  characteristic.  These  played  the 
prime  parts  in  life,  —  eyes  and  voice.  Eyes  were  a 
civility  and  a  kingdom :  voice  a  fortune.  There  was  a 
culture,  a  fate  in  them,  direful,  divine."  And  he 
quoted,  without  naming  the  author :  — 

"Black  eyes,  in  your  dark  orbs  doth  lie 
My  ill  or  happy  destiny ; 
If  with  clear  looks  you  me  behold, 
You  give  me  wine  and  mounts  of  gold ; 
If  you  dart  forth  disdainful  rays, 
To  your  own  dye  you  turn  my  days ; 
Black  eyes,  in  your  dark  orbs  doth  dwell 
My  bane  or  bliss,  my  heaven  or  hell." 

Then  added,  significantly  :  — 

Ask  you  my  preference,  what  their  hue  ? 
Surely  the  safe,  celestial  blue. 

He  said :  "  Voice  classified  us.  The  harmonious 
voice  tells  of  the  harmonious  soul.  Millions  of  fiends 
are  evoked  in  a  breath  by  an  irritated  one.  A  gentle 
voice  converts  the  Furies  into  Muses.  The  highest 
saint  is  not  he  who  strives  the  most  violently,  but  he 
upon  whom  goodness  sits  graceful!}7,  whose  strength  is 
gentleness,  duty  loved,  because  spontaneous,  and  who 
wastes  none  of  his  power  in  effort ;  his  will  being  one 
and  above  temptation.  True  love  says,  '  Come  to  my 


186  CONCOED  DAYS. 

embrace,  you  are  safer  with  me  than  you  were  with 
yourself,  since  I  am  wise  above  knowledge,  and  tasting 
of  the  apple.'  The  sequel  is  bliss  and  peace.  But  after 
fascination  comes  sorrow,  remorse.  The  touch  of  the 
demonized  soul  is  poison.  Read  Swedenborg's  Hells, 
he  added,  and  beware  of  demonized  eyes  !  " 

I  never  saw  any  one  who  seemed  to  purify  words  as 
Mr.  Alcott  does ;  with  him  nothing  is  common  or 
unclean. 

He  then  spoke  of  temperance  in  its  widest  sense,  as 
being  that  which  contributed  to  health  of  the  whole 
being,  body  and  soul  alike.  He  said,  "  We  should 
breakfast  on  sunrise  and  sup  on  sunset."  And  he  read 
passages  from  Pythagoras,  recommending  music  as  a 
diet.  Pythagoras  composed  melodies  for  the  night  and 
morning,  to  purify  the  brain.  He  forbade  his  disciples 
the  using  of  flesh  meats,  or  drinks  which  heated  and 
disturbed  the  brain,  or  hindered  the  music  of  dreams." 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation,  Miss  Bremer  and 
Mr.  Benzon,  the  Swedish  consul,  came  in,  and  there 
was  a  slight  pause. 

Mr.  Alcott  then  resumed  the  subject,  and  read 
Emerson's  Bacchus,  to  which  he  gave  new  signifi 
cance.  When  he  had  finished,  he  said,  "  This  is  the 
wine  we  want."  He  then  spoke  of  the  subject  proposed 
for  the  evening's  conversation,  which  was  Enthusiasm, 
defining  it  as  u  an  abandonment  to  the  instincts.  The 
seer,"  he  said,  "  was  one  in  whom  memory  predomi 
nated,  and  many  of  his  visions  were  recollections  rather 


JULY.  187 

of  a  former  than  revelations  of  a  future  state."  This 
state  of  clairvoyance  he  named  "  thought  a-bed,  or  phi 
losophy  recumbent  " ;  and  in  this  view  he  spoke  of 
"  Swedenborg,  who  was  an  enthusiast  in  the  latter 
sense,  and  revealed  remarkable  things."  He  quoted  a 
passage  from  Swedenborg's  diary,  wherein  he  speaks 
of  his  being  created  with  the  power  of  breathing  in 
wardly,  suspending  his  outward  breathing,  and  in  this 
way  conversed  with  angels  and  spirits. 

Miss  Bremer  asked  Mr.  Alcott  "  if  he  called  Sweden 
borg  an  enthusiast." 

Mr.  Alcott  said,  "  Swedenborg  was  in  such  fine  rela 
tions  with  nature  and  spirit,  that  many  things  seemed 
revealed  to  him  beyond  the  apprehension  of  ordinary 
men.  He  was  a  seer  rather  of  supernatural  than  of 
spiritual  things ;  a  preternaturalist,  rather  than  spirit 
ualist.  He  had  wonderful  insights  into  nature,  also, 
which  science  was  almost  every  day  confirming." 

"  His  followers  claimed  that  he  anticipated  important 
discoveries,  both  in  natural  as  in  spiritual  science,  and 
that  his  merits  were  enhanced  by  his  claim  to  supernat 
ural  illumination.  And  whatever  his  gifts,  how  assisted, 
whether  by  agencies  supernatural  or  preternatural,  their 
operations  were  of  wonderful  sweep,  his  insights  sur 
passing,  transcending  the  comprehension  of  any  suc 
cessor  ;  of  a  kind  that  have  led  some  to  suspect  that  he 
staggered  down  under  the  weight  of  his  endowments. 
Certainly,  he  stands,  like  Boehme,  an  exceptional  mind, 
in  the  order  of  nature,  and  awaits  an  interpreter 


188  CONCORD  DAYS. 

to  determine  his  place  in  the  world  of  thought.  He 
is  the  most  eminent  example  furnished  in  modern 
biography  of  the  possibilities  of  the  metempsychosis, 
as  if  we  saw  in  him  an  ability  to  translate  himself 
at  will,  personally,  wheresoever  he  would,  taking  his 
residence  for  the  while  in  plant,  animal,  mineral, 
atom,  with  the  superadded  faculty  of  ravishing  its 
secret.  Nor  content  with  this,  he  ransacks  the  prime 
val  elements,  the  limbos  of  chaos  and  night.  What 
burglaries  he  perpetrates  !  picking  of  locks,  slitting  of 
mysteries,  opening  rents  into  things  sacred  and  pro 
fane,  —  of  these  no  end.  Then  such  edifices  rising 
from  regions  of  vagary  and  shadow,  a  goblin  world, 
grand,  grotesque,  seldom  lighted  from  above,  or 
tipped  with  azure.  His  heavens  had  no  prospects ; 
no  perspective ;  his  hells  were  lurid  ;  the  pit  bottom 
less,  a  Stygian  realm  throughout.  His  genius  plunges, 
seldom  soars  ;  is  not  fledged,  but  footed  ;  his  heaven  but 
the  cope  of  the  abyss  in  plain  sight  of  the  doomed. 
His  angels  are  spectral,  unwholesome ;  his  celestials 
too  knowing  to  be  innocent. 

"  It  were  a  fruitless  task  to  follow  him  from  starting- 
point  to  goal,  if  goal  there  be,  in  his  restless  racing 
throughout  nature.  The  ghost-seer  of  shadow-land, 
whereinto  he  smuggled  all  natural  things  as  spiritual 
phantoms ;  he  needs  be  studied  with  due  drawback 
of  doubt,  as  to  the  veracity  of  his  claim  to  divine 
illumination.  Still  with  every  abatement,  here  is  a 
body  of  truth  none  can  gainsay  nor  resist ; .  abysses 


JULY.  189 

not  yet  fathomed  by  any  successor,  naturalist,  or 
spiritualist. 

After  this  surprising  statement  of  his  views  of  Swe- 
denborg,  Miss  Bremer  asked  more  questions  about  Mr. 
Alcott's  definition  of  an  Enthusiast,  adding  :  "  Christ, 
then,  if  we  speak  of  him  as  a  man,  was  an  enthusiast." 

Mr.  Alcott,  smiling,  said,  "  Yes,  the  divinest  of  en 
thusiasts,  surrendering  himself  entirely  to  the  instincts 
of  the  Spirit ;  might  safely  do  so,  being  holy,  whole, 
inspired  throughout  all  his  gifts,  his  whole  Personality, 
—  the  divine  fire  pervaded  every  part ;  therefore  he 
was  the  celestial  man." 

The  conversation  here  turned  upon  Nature,  in  some 
way  which  I  do  not  now  recollect,  and  Mr.  Alcott 
spoke  of  the  great  mission  of  the  prophet  of  nature. 

"  The  public  child  of  earth  and  sky." 

"  Nature,"  he  said,  "  was  more  to  some  persons  than 
others  ;  they  standing  in  closer  relations  to  it." 

"  But  nature,"  said  Miss  Bremer,  u  is  not  wholly 
good." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Alcott ;  "  there  is  something  of  Fate 
in  her,  too,  as  in  some  persons.  She,  too,  is  a  little 
bitten." 

The  expression  seemed  to  amuse  her,  for  she  repeated 
it  several  times,  laughing. 

Mr.  Alcott  then  said,  "  that  nature  was  not  wholly 
sane.  It  was  given  to  the  celestial  man  alone  to  take 
from  it  only  what  was  salutary,  as  it  was  the  Nemesis 


190  CONCORD  DAYS. 

of  the  demonic  man  to  take  what  was  hurtful.  Bees 
gathered  honey  from  all  flowers." 

James  Russell  Lowell  asked  "  if  bees  did  not  some 
times  secrete  poisonous  honey  ?  " 

Mr.  Alcott  said  "  he  believed  they  did,  but  only  when 
wholesome  flowers  were  denied  them." 

Miss  Littlehale  suggested  that  "honey  was  not  poi 
sonous  to  the  bees,  but  to  men  only,  and  Mr.  Lowell 
allowed  that  it  was  not." 

Miss  Bremer  now  returned  to  the  word  Enthusiast. 
She  said  Mr.  Alcott  had  defined  it  well  as  "  divine 
intoxication." 

I  do  not  follow  the  order  of  time  in  what  follows,  but 
record  some  scattered  sayings  of  the  conversation. 

Mr.  Alcott  spoke  of  "the  celestial,  or  unfallen  man, 
as  not  making  choice  of  good  ;  he  was  chosen  rather  ; 
elected,  deliberation  presupposed  a  mixed  will,  a  temp 
tation  and  a  lapse.  Then,  opening  Plotinus,  he  read 
this  beautiful  passage  :  — 

"  Every  soul  is  a  Venus.  And  this,  the  nativity  of 
Venus,  and  Love  who  was  born  at  the  same  time  with 
her,  obscurely  signify.  The  soul,  therefore,  when  in 
a  condition  conformable  to  nature,  loves  God,  wishing 
to  be  united  to  him,  being,  as  it  were,  the  desire  of 
a  beautiful  virgin  to  be  conjoined  with  a  beautiful 
love.  When,  however,  the  soul  descends  into  gene 
ration,  then  being,  as  it  were,  deceived  by  spurious 
"nuptials,  and  associating  herself  with  another  and  mor 
tal  love,  she  becomes  petulent  and  insolent,  through 


JULY.  191 

being  absent  from  her  father.  But  when  she  again 
hates  wantonness  and  injustice,  and  becomes  purified 
from  the  defilements  which  are  here,  and  again  returns 
to  her  father,  she  is  affected  in  the  most  felicitous 
manner.  And  those,  indeed,  who  are  ignorant  of  this 
affection,  may  from  worldly  love  form  some  conjecture 
of  divine  love,  by  considering  how  great  a  felicity  the 
possession  of  a  most  beloved  object  is  conceived  to  be  ; 
and  also,  by  considering  that  those  earthly  objects  of 
love  are  mortal  and  noxious  ;  that  the  love  of  them  is 
nothing  more  than  the  love  of  images,  and  that  they 
lose  their  attractive  power  because  they  are  not  truly 
desirable,  nor  our  real  good,  nor  that  which  we  investi 
gate.  In  the  ideal  world,  however,  the  object  of  love 
is  to  be  found,  with  which  we  may  be  conjoined,  which 
we  may  participate  and  truly  possess,  and  which  is  not 
externally  enveloped  with  flesh.  He,  however,  who 
knows  this,  well  knew  what  I  say,  and  will  be  convinced 
that  the  soul  has  another  life." 

Miss  Bremer  seemed  puzzled  by  this  reading  as 
questioning  in  her  mind  a  distinction  between  virtue 
and  innocence,  or  holiness,  which  Mr.  Alcott  had  dis 
criminated  clearly. 

Some  one  inquired,  "  How  can  we  trust  our  instincts 
since  these  have  been  so  differently  educated  ?  " 

Mr.  Alcott  said  "  they  had  rather  been  overborne  by 
the  appetites  and  passions.  It  was  the  tragedy  of  life 
that  these  were  obscured  so  soon,  and  the  mind  left  in 
confusion.  The  child  was  more  of  an  enthusiast  than 
the  man  ordinarily.  And  then  so  many  were  born  old  ; 


192  GONCOED  DAYS. 

even  in  the  babe  one  sometimes  sees  some  ancient  sin 
ner.  Youth  is  so  attractive  because  still  under  the 
sway  of  instinct.  The  highest  duty  is  musical  and 
sings  itself.  Business,  lusts,  draw  men  downwards. 
Yet  were  life  earnest  and  true  to  the  instincts,  it  would 
be  music  and  song.  Life  was  too  much  for  most. 
No  one  was  always  an  enthusiast.  It  was  in  the 
golden  moments  that  he  was  filled  with  the  overflowing 
divinity.  The  blissful  moments  were  those  when  one 
abandons  himself  to  the  Spirit,  letting  it  do  what  it  will 
with  him.  True,  most  persons  were  divided,  there  were 
two  or  more  of  them,  —  a  Deuce  distracting  them  and 
they  in  conflict  with  evils,  or  devils.  But  what  is  the 
bad  but  lapse  from  the  good,  —  the  good  blindfolded?  " 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Alcott,"  said  Miss  Bremer,  laughing,  "  I 
am  desperately  afraid  there  is  a  little  bit  of  a  devil, 
after  all." 

"  One's  foes  are  of  his  own  household,"  said  Mr. 
Alcott.  "  If  his  house  is  haunted  it  is  by  himself  only." 
Our  Choices  were  our  Saviours  or  Satans. 

Speaking  of  the  temperaments,  Mr.  Alcott  discrimi 
nated  these  in  their  different  elements. 

The  celestial  man  was  composed  more  largely  of  light 
and  ether.  The  demonic  man  combined  more  of  fire 
and  vapor.  The  animal  man  more  of  embers  and  dust.* 

*  THE  TEMPERAMENTS  AND  COMPLEXIONS. 
The  Sanguine  or  Aeriform  is  Fair; 
The  Choleric  or  Fiery  is  Florid ; 
The  Lymphatic  or  Aqueous  is  Olive; 
The  Melancholic  or  Earthy  is  Dark. 

The  four  are  mostly  blended  in  life,  the  fusion  being  frequently  indeter 
minable. 


JULY.  193 

The  sacraments  might  be  considered  symbolically,  as 
Baptism,  or  purification  by  water. 

Fasting,  or  temperance  in  outward  delights. 

Continence,  or  chastity  in  personal  indulgences. 

Prayer,  or  aspiring  aims. 

Labor,  or  prayer  in  act  or  pursuits. 

These  he  considered  the  regimen  of  inspiration  and 
thought. 

Mr.  Alcott  closed  the  conversation  by  reading  from 
the  Paradise  Regained  a  description  of  the  banquet 
spread  by  Satan  for  Christ ;  also,  the  lines  in  praise 
of  Chastity,  from  the  Comus,  whose  clear  statue-like 
beauty  always  affects  one  powerfully. 


HAWTHORNE. 

MONDAY,  19. 

TJ"  AWTHORNE  was  of  the  darker  temperament  and 
-J — L  tendencies.  His  sensitiveness  and  sadness  were 
native,  and  he  cultivated  them  apparently  alike  by  soli 
tude,  the  pursuits  and  studies  in  which  he  indulged,  till 
he  became  almost  fated  to  know  gayer  hours  only  by 
stealth.  By  disposition  friendly,  he  seemed  the  victim  of 
his  temperament,  as  if  he  sought  distance,  if  not  his  pen, 
to  put  himself  in  communication,  and  possible  sympathy 
with  others, — with  his  nearest  friends,  even.  His  reserve 
and  imprisonment  were  more  distant  and  close,  while 
the  desire  for  conversation  was  livelier,  than  any  one  I 
have  known.  There  was  something  of  strangeness  even 


194  CONCORD  DATS. 

in  his  cherished  intimacies,  as  if  he  set  himself  afar 
from  all  and  from  himself  with  the  rest ;  the  most  diffi 
dent  of  men,  as  coy  as  a  maiden,  he  could  only  be  won 
by  some  cunning  artifice,  his  reserve  was  so  habitual,  his 
isolation  so  entire,  the  solitude  so  vast.  How  distant 
people  were  from  him,  the  world  they  lived  in,  how 
he  came  to  know  so  much  about  them,  by  what 
stratagem  he  got  into  his  own  house  or  left  it, 
was  a  marvel.  Fancy  fixed,  he  was  not  to  be  jostled 
from  himself  for  a  moment,  his  mood  was  so  persistent. 
There  he  was  in  the  twilight,  there  he  stayed.  Was  he 
some  damsel  imprisoned  in  that  manly  form  pleading 
alway  for  release,  sighing  for  the  freedom  and  compan 
ionships  denied  her  ?  Or  was  he  some  Assyrian  ill  at  ease 
afar  from  the  olives  and  the  East?  Had  he  strayed 
over  with  William  the  Conqueror,  and  true  to  his  Nor 
man  nature,  was  the  baron  still  in  republican  America, 
secure  in  his  castle,  secure  in  his  tower,  whence  he  could 
defy  all  invasion  of  curious  eyes  ?  What  neighbor  of 
his  ever  caught  him  on  the  highway,  or  ventured  to 
approach  his  threshold  ? 

"  His  bolted  Castle  gates,  what  man  should  ope, 
Unless  the  Lord  did  will 
To  prove  his  skill, 
And  tempt  the  fates  hid  in  his  horoscope?  " 

Yet  if  by  chance  admitted,  welcome  in  a  voice  that  a 
woman  might  own  for  its  hesitancy  and  tenderness  ;  his 
eyes  telling  the  rest. 

"  For  such  the  noble  language  of  his  eye, 
That  when  of  words  his  lips  were  destitute, 
Kind  eyebeams  spake  while  yet  his  tongue  was  mute." 


JULY.  195 

Your  intrusion  was  worth  the  courage  it  cost ;  it  em 
boldened  to  future  assaults  to  carry  this  fort  of  bashful- 
ness.  During  all  the  time  he  lived  near  me,  our  estates 
being  separated  only  by  a  gate  and  shaded  avenue,  I 
seldom  caught  sight  of  him ;  and  when  I  did  it  was  but 
to  lose  it  the  moment  he  suspected  he  was  visible ; 
oftenest  seen  on  his  hill-top  screened  behind  the  shrub 
bery  and  disappearing  like  a  hare  into  the  bush  when 
surprised.  I  remember  of  his  being  in  my  house  but 
twice,  and  then  he  was  so  ill  at  ease  that  he  found  excuse 
for  leaving  politely  forthwith,  —  "  the  stove  was  so  hot," 
"  the  clock  ticked  so  loud."  Yet  he  once  complained 
to  me  of  his  wish  to  meet  oftener,  and  dwelt  on  the 
delights  of  fellowship,  regretting  he  had  so  little.  I 
think  he  seldom  dined  from  home ;  nor  did  he  often 
entertain  any  one,  —  once,  an  Englishman,  when  I 
was  also  his  guest ;  but  he  preserved  his  shrinking 
taciturnity,  and  left  to  us  the  conversation.  Another 
time  I  dined  with  a  Southern  guest  at  his  table.  The 
conversation  turning  on  the  war  after  dinner,  he  hid 
himself  in  the  corner,  as  if  a  distant  spectator,  and 
fearing  there  was  danger  even  there.  It  was  clue  to  his 
guest  to  hear  the  human  side  of  the  question  of  slavery, 
since  she  had  heard  only  the  best  the  South  had  to 
plead  in  its  favor. 

I  never  deemed  Hawthorne  an  advocate  of  Southern 
ideas  and  institutions.  He  professed  democracy,  not  in 
the  party,  but  large  sense  of  equality.  Perhaps  he  loved 
England  too  well  to  be  quite  just  to  his  native  land,  — 


19G  CONCORD  DAYS. 

was  more  the  Old  Englishman  than  the  New.  He 
seemed  to  regret  the  transplanting,  as  if  reluctant  to 
fix  his  roots  in  our  soil.  His  book  on  England, 
entitled  "  Our  Old  Home/'  intimates  his  filial  affec 
tion  for  that  and  its  institutions.  If  his  themes  were 
American,  his  treatment  of  them  was  foreign,  rather.  He 
stood  apart  as  having  no  stake  in  home  affairs.  While 
calling  himself  a  democrat,  he  sympathized  apparently 
with  the  absolutism  of  the  old  countries.  He  had  not 
full  faith  in  the  people ;  perhaps  feared  republicanism 
because  it  had.  Of  our  literary  men,  he  least  sympa 
thized  with  the  North,  and  was  tremulously  disturbed,  I 
remember,  at  the  time  of  the  New- York  niob.  It  is 
doubtful  if  he  ever  attended  a  political  meeting  or 
voted  on  any  occasion  throughout  the  long  struggle 
with  slavery.  He  stood  aloof,  hesitating  to  take  a  re 
sponsible  part,  true  to  his  convictions,  doubtless, 
strictly  honest,  if  not  patriotic. 

He  strove  by  disposition  to  be  sunny  and  genial, 
traits  not  native  to  him.  Constitutionally  shy,  recluse, 
melancholy,  only  by  shafts  of  wit  and  flow  of  humor 
could  he  deliver  himself.  There  was  a  soft  sadness 
in  his  smile,  a  reserve  in  his  glance,  telling  how  isolate 
he  was.  Was  he  ever  one  of  his  company  while  in  it  ? 
There  was  an  aloofness,  a  besides,  that  refused  to  affil 
iate  himself  with  himself,  even.  His  readers  must  feel 
this,  while  unable  to  account  for  it,  perhaps,  or  express 
it  adeguately.  A  believer  in  transmitted  traits  needs 
but  read  his  pedigree  to  find  the  genesis  of  what  charac- 


JULY.  197 

terized  him  distinctly,  and  made  him  and  his  writings 
their  inevitable  sequel.  Everywhere  you  will  find  per 
sons  of  his  type  and  complexion  similar  in  cast  of 
character  and  opinions.  His  associates  mostly  confirm 
the  observation. 


LANDOR 

Landor's  Biography,  edited  by  James  Forster,  and 
lately  published  here,  well  repays  perusal.  Landor 
seems  to  have  been  the  victim  of  his  temperament  all 
his  life  long.  I  know  not  when  I  have  read  a  com 
mentary  so  appalling  on  the  fate  that  breaks  a  noble 
mind  on  the  wheel  of  its  passions,  precipitating  it  into 
the  dungeons  but  to  brighten  its  lights.  Of  impetuous 
wing,  his  genius  was  yet  sure  of  its  boldest  flights,  and 
to  him,  if  any  modern,  may  be  applied  Coleridge's 
epithet  of  "  myriad  mindedness,"  so  salient,  varied, 
so  daring  the  sweep  of  his  thought.  More  than  any  he 
reminds  of  Shakespeare  in  dramatic  power ;  of  Plato, 
in  his  mastery  of  dialogue  ;  in  epic  force,  of  JEschylus. 
He  seems  to  have  been  one  of  the  demigods,  cast  down, 
out  of  place,  out  of  his  time,  restless  ever,  and  indig 
nant  at  his  destiny,  — 

"  Heaven's  exile  straying  from  the  orb  of  light." 

His  stormful,  wayward  career  exemplifies  in  a  re 
markable  manner  the  recoiling  Fate  pervading  human 
affairs. 


198  CONCOED  DAYS. 

"  A  sharp  dogmatic  man,"  says  Emerson,  who  met 
him  when  abroad,  "  with  a  great  deal  of  knowledge,  a 
great  deal  of  worth  and  a  great  deal  of  pride,  with  a 
profound  contempt  for  all  that  he  does  not  understand, 
a  master  of  elegant  learning  and  capable  of  the  utmost 
delicacy  of  sentiment,  and  yet  prone  to  indulge  a  sort 
of  ostentation  of  coarse  imagery  and  language.  He 
has  capital  enough  to  have  furnished  the  brain  of  fifty 
stock  authors,  yet  has  written  no  good  book.  In  these 
busy  days  of  avarice  and  ambition,  when  there  is  so  little 
disposition  to  profound  thought,  or  to  any  but  the  most 
superficial  intellectual  entertainments,  a  faithful  scholar, 
receiving  from  past  ages  the  treasures  of  wit,  and  en 
larging  them  by  his  own  lore,  is  a  friend  and  consoler 
of  mankind.  Whoever  writes  for  the  love  of  mirth  and 
beauty,  and  not  with  ulterior  ends,  belongs  to  this 
sacred  class,  and  among  these,  few  men  of  the  present 
age  have  a  better  claim  to  be  numbered  than  Mr.  Lan- 
dor.  Wherever  genius  and  taste  have  existed,  wherever 
freedom  and  justice  are  threatened  (which  he  values  as 
the  element  in  which  genius  may  work) ,  his  interest  is 
here  to  be  commanded.  Nay,  when  we  remember  his 
rich  and  ample  page,  wherein  we  are  always  sure  to  find 
free  and  sustained  thought,  a  keen  and  precise  under 
standing,  an  affluent  and  ready  memory  familiar  with 
all  chosen  books,  an  industrious  observation  in  every 
department  of  life,  an  experience  to  which  nothing  has 
occurred  in  vain,  honor  for  every  just  sentiment,  and  a 
scourge  like  that  of  the  Furies  for  every  oppressor, 


JULY.  199 

whether  public  or  private,  we  feel  how  dignified  is  this 
perpetual  censor  in  his  cerule  chair,  and  we  wish  to 
thank  a  benefactor  of  the  reading  world." 

No  writer  of  our  time  in  the  difficult  species  of  com 
position,  the  dialogue,  has  attained  a  success  upon  so 
high  a  plane  as  Landor  in  his  Conversations,  wherein 
he  has  treated  almost  every  human  interest,  brought  his 
characters  together,  like  Plato's  interlocutors,  from 
different  ages  and  of  differing  opinions,  using  these  as 
representatives  of  the  world's  best  literature.  And  be 
sides  these  his  masterpieces,  his  verses  have  the  chaste 
and  exquisite  quality  of  the  best  Greek  poetry. 

"  His  dialogues  number,"  says  his  biographer,  "  not 
fewer  than  a  hundred  and  fifty.  Different  as  these  were 
in  themselves,  it  was  not  the  less  the  distinguishing 
mark  of  their  genius  to  be,  both  in  their  conformation 
and  in  their  mass,  almost  strangely  alike  ;  and  it  is  this 
unity  in  their  astonishing  variety,  the  fire  of  an  in 
expressible  genius  running  through  the  whole,  that 
gives  to  his  books  containing  them  their  place  among 
the  books  not  likely  to  pass  away  ;  there  is  scarcely  a  form 
or  function  of  the  human  mind,  sincere  or  sprightly, 
cogitative  or  imaginative,  historical,  fanciful,  or  real, 
which  has  not  been  exercised  or  brought  into  play  in 
this  extraordinary  series  of  writings.  The  world,  past 
and  present,  is  reproduced  in  them,  with  its  variety  and 
uniformity,  its  continuity  and  change." 

What  Laudor  says  of  written  dialogue,  holds  in  still 
wider  latitude,  even,  in  conversation. 


200  CONCOED  DAYS. 

"  When  a,  man  writes  a  dialogue,  he  has  it  all  to  him- 
self,  the  pro  and  the  con,  the  argument  and  the  reply. 
Within  the  shortest  given  space  of  time,  he  may  indulge 
in  every  possible  variety  of  mood.  He  may  contradict 
himself  every  minute.  In  the  same  page,  without  any 
sort  of  violence,  the  most  different  shades  of  sentiment 
may  find  expression.  Extravagance  of  statement, 
which  in  other  forms  could  not  be  admitted,  may  be 
fully  put  forth.  Dogmas  of  every  description  may  be 
dealt  in,  audaciously  propounded,  or  passionately  op 
posed,  with  a  result  all  the  livelier  in  proportion  to  the 
mere  vehemence  expended  on  them.  In  no  other  style 
of  composition  is  a  writer  so  free  from  ordinary  re 
straints  upon  opinion,  or  so  absolved  from  self-control. 
Better  far  than  any  other,  it  adapts  itself  to  eagerness 
and  impatience.  Dispensing  with  preliminaries,  the 
jump  in  medias  res  may  at  once  be  taken  safely.  That 
one  thing  should  be  unexpectedly  laid  aside,  and  an 
other  as  capriciously  taken  up,  is  quite  natural  to  it ; 
the  subjects  being  few  that  may  not  permissively  branch 
off  into  all  the  kindred  topics  connected  with  them, 
when  the  formalities  held  ordinarily  necessary  in  the 
higher  order  of  prose  composition  have  disappeared  in 
the  freedom  of  conversation." 


JULY.  201 

SLEEP    AND    DREAMS. 

THURSDAY,  22. 

"When  sleep  hath  closed  our  eyes  the  mind  sees  well, 
For  Fate  by  daylight  is  invisible." 


admirable  for  the  admirable  hours.  The 
J-  morning  for  thought,  the  afternoon  for  recreation, 
the  evening  for  company,  the  night  for  rest.  Having 
drank  of  immortality  all  night,  the  genius  enters  eagerly 
upon  the  day's  task,  impatient  of  any  impertinences 
jogging  the  full  glass.  The  best  comes  when  we 
are  at  our  best  ;  and  who  so  buoyant  as  to  be  always 
rider  of  the  wave  ?  Sleep,  and  see  ;  wake,  and  report 
the  nocturnal  spectacle.  Sleep,  like  travel,  enriches, 
refreshes,  by  varying  the  da}7's  perspective,  showing  us 
the  night  side  of  the  globe  we  traverse  day  by  day. 
We  make  transits  too  swift  for  our  wakeful  senses  to 
follow  ;  pass  from  solar  to  lunar  consciousness  in  a 
twinkling,  lapse  from  forehead  and  face  to  occupy  our 
lower  parts,  and  recover,  as  far  as  permitted,  the  keys 
of  genesis  and  of  the  foreworlds.  "  All  truth,"  says 
Porphyry,  "  is  latent  ;  but  this  the  soul  sometimes  be 
holds  when  she  is  a  little  liberated  by  sleep  from  the 
employments  of  the  body.  And  sometimes  she  extends 
her  sight,  but  never  perfectly  reaches  the  objects  of  her 
vision.  Hence,  when  she  beholds,  she  does  not  see  it 
with  a  free  and  direct  light,  but  through  an  intervening 


202  CONCORD  DATS. 

veil,  which  the  folds  of  darkening  nature  draw  over  her 
eye.  This  veil,  when  in  sleep  it  admits  the  light  to  ex 
tend  as  far  as  truth,  is  said  to  be  of  horn,  whose  nature 
is  such,  from  its  tenuity,  that  it  is  pervious  to  the  light. 
But  when  it  dulls  the  sight  and  repels  its  vision  of 
truth,  it  is  said  to  be  of  ivory,  which  is  a  body  so  nat 
urally  dense,  that,  however  thin  it  may  be  scraped,  it 
cannot  be  penetrated  by  the  visual  rays." 
Homer  says, — 

"  Our  dreams  descend  from  Jove." 

That  is,  from  the  seat  of  intellect,  and  declare  their  im 
port  when  our  will  sleeps.  Then  are  they  of  weighty 
and  reliable  import,  yet  require  the  like  suppression  of 
our  will  to  make  plain  their  significance.  Only  so  is 
the  oracle  made  reliable.  The  good  alone  dream 
divinely.  Our  dreams  are  characteristic  of  our  waking 
thoughts  and  states ;  we  are  never  out  of  character ; 
never  quite  another,  even  when  fancy  seeks  to  meta 
morphose  us  entirely.  The  Person  is  One  in  all  the 
manifold  phases  of  the  Many  through  which  we  trans 
migrate,  and  we  find  ourself  perpetually,  because  we 
cannot  lose  ourself  personally  in  the  mazes  of  the  many; 
JT  is  the  one  soul  in  manifold  shapes,  ever  the  old  friend 
of  the  mirror  in  other  face,  old  and  new,  yet  one  in 
endless  revolution  and  metamorphosis,  suggesting  a 
common  relationship  of  forms  at  their  base,  with  di 
vergent  types  as  these  range  wider  and  farther  from 
their  central  archetype,  including  all  concrete  forms  in 


JULY.  203 

nature,  each  returning  into  other,  and  departing  there 
from  in  endless  revolution.* 

"  I  catch  myself  philosophizing  most  eloquently," 
wrote  Thoreau,  "when  first  returning  to  consciousnsss 
in  the  night  or  morning.  I  make  the  truest  observa 
tions  and  distinctions  then  when  the  will  is  yet  wholly 
asleep,  and  mind  works  like  a  machine  without  friction. 
I  was  conscious  of  having  in  my  sleep  transcended  the 
limits  of  the  individual,  and  made  observations  and 
carried  on  conversations  which  in  my  waking  hours  I 
can  neither  recall  nor  appreciate.  As  if,  in  sleep,  our 
individual  fell  into  the  infinite  mind,  and  at  the  moment 
of  awakening  we  found  ourselves  on  the  confines  of  the 
latter.  On  awakening,  we  resume  our  enterprise,  take 
up  our  bodies,  and  become  limited  minds  again.  We 
meet  and  converse  with  those  bodies  which  we  have 
previously  animated.  There  is  a  moment  in  the  dawn 
when  the  darkness  of  the  night  is  dissipated,  and  before 
the  exhalations  of  the  day  begin  to  rise,  when  we  see 
all  things  more  truly  than  at  any  other  time.  The  light 
is  more  trustworthy,  since  our  senses  are  pure  and  the 

*  The  seeming  miracle  and  mystery  of  the  mesmeric,  or  clairvoyant  vi 
vacity,  is  best  explained  by  conceiving  the  instreaming  force  of  the  operator 
driving  the  magnetic  current  from  cerebrum  to  the  cerebellum  of  his  victim, 
and  there,  while  under  the  pressure,  reporting  the  operator's  sensations  and 
thoughts  through  the  common  brain  of  both.  And  this  view  is  confirmed 
by  the  further  fact  that  under  this  dominating  force  the  domain  of  memory 
is  tho  more  deeply  searched,  and  things  revealed  which,  separate  and  alone, 
left  unaided  by  such  agencies,  neither  could  have  divined.  It  is  like  one's 
adding  a  double  brain  to  his  own,  and  subsidizing  it  the  while  to  serve  his 
particular  ends. 


204  CONCOED  DAYS. 

atmosphere  i?»  less  gross.     By  afternoon,  all  objects  are 
seen  in  mirage." 

All  men  are  spiritualists  in  finer  or  coarser  manners, 
as  temperament  and  teaching  dictate  and  determine,  — 
the  spiritual  world  revealing  itself  accordingly.  Spec 
ulation  has  in  all  ages  delighted  itself  in  this  preter 
natural  realm  from  whence  have  risen  the  ghosts  of 
realties  too  unsubstantial  and  fugitive  for  ordinary 
senses  to  apprehend.  Whatever  the  facts,  they 
receive  interpretation  according  to  the  spirit  and 
intelligence  of  the  believer.  The  past  is  full  of  such 
prodigies  and  phenomena,  for  whose  solution  all  learn 
ing,  sacred  and  profane,  is  revived  in  its  turn.  It 
appears  that  like  opinions  have  their  rounds  to  run,  like 
theories  with  their  disciples,  reappearing  in  all  great 
crises  of  thought,  and  reaching  a  fuller  solution  at  each 
succeeding  period.  A  faith,  were  such  possible,  destitute 
of  an  element  of  preternaturalism,  or  of  mysticism,  pure 
or  mixed,  could  not  gain  general  acceptance.  Some 
hold  on  the  invisible  connects  the  known  with  unknown, 
yet  leaving  the  copula  to  be  divined.  We  define  it  on 
our  lips  when  we  pronounce  the  word  Person,  and  so 
approach,  as  near  as  we  may,  to  the  "  I  Am  "  of  things. 

Unseen  our  spirits  move,  are  such, 
So  eager  they  to  clasp,  they  feel,  they  touch 
While  yet  our  bodies  linger,  cannot  speed 
The  distance  that  divides,  confines  their  need. 


JULY.  205 


GENESIS    AND    LAPSE. 

SUNDAY,  25. 
"  "J3EFORE  the  Revolution  of  1G88,"  says  Coleridge, 


"  metapl^sics  ruled  without  experimental  phi 
losophy.  Since  the  Revolution,  experimental  psychol 
ogy  has  in  like  manner  prevailed,  and  we  now  feel  the 
result.  In  like  manner,  from  Plotinus  to  Proclus,  that 
is,  from  A.  D.  250  to  A.  D.  450,  philosophy  was  set  up 
as  a  substitute  for  religion  ;  during  the  dark  ages, 
religion  superseded  philosophy,  and  the  consequences 
are  equally  instructive." 

"  The  great  maxim  in  legislation,  intellectual  or 
physical,  is  subordinate,  not  exclude.  Nature,  in  her 
ascent,  leaves  nothing  behind  ;  but  at  each  step  subor 
dinates  and  glorifies,  —  mass,  crystal,  organ,  sensation, 
sentience,  reflection." 

Taken  in  reverse  order  of  descent,  Spirit  puts  itself 
before,  at  each  step  protrudes  faculty  in  feature,  func 
tion,  organ,  limb,  subordinating  to  glorify  also,  — 
person,  volition,  thought,  sensibility,  sense,  body,  — 
animating  thus  and  rounding  creation  to  soul  and  sense 
alike.  The  naturalist  cannot  urge  too  strongly  the 
claims  of  physical,  nor  the  plea  of  the  idealist  be  too 
vigorously  pressed  for  metaphysical  studies.^  One  body 
in  one  soul.  Nature  and  spirit  are  inseparable,  and  are 
best,  studied  as  a  unit.  "  Either  without  the  other," 


206  CONCORD  DAYS. 

as  Plato  said  of  sex, "  is  but  half  itself."  Nature  ends 
where  spirit  begins.  The  idealist's  point  of  view  is 
the  obverse  of  the  naturalist's,  and  each  must  accost 
his  side  with  a  first  love,  before  use  has  worn  off  the 
bloom  and  seduced  their  vision. 

Goethe  said  of  Aristotle  that  "he  had  better  observed 
nature  than  any  modern,  but  was  too  rash  in  his  infer 
ences  and  conclusions"  ;  and  he  adds,  "  we  must  go  to 
work  slowly,  and  more  indulgently  with  Nature,  if  we 
would  get  anything  from  her." 

Inspired  by  his  example  of  dealing  thus  reverently 
and  lovingly  with  nature,  the  great  naturalists  of  our 
time  are  reading  secrets  hitherto  hidden  from  less  care 
ful  and  pious  observers.  If  the  results  thus  far  have 
not  satisfied  the  idealist,  it  becomes  him  to  consider 
that  his  methods  are  the  reverse  of  theirs,  and  that 
when  they  shall  have  tracked  Life  in  its  manifold  shapes 
and  modes  of  working  in  nature  up  to  Spirit,  their  office 
is  fulfilled,  their  work  complete,  and  their  discoveries 
are  passed  over  to  him  for  a  higher  generalization  and 
genesis.  "A  physical  delineation  of  nature,"  says 
Humboldt,  "  terminates  at  the  point  where  the  sphere 
of  intellect  begins,  and  a  new  world  is  opened  to  our 
view  ;  it  marks  the  limit,  but  does  not  pass  it." 

Whether  man  be  the  successor  or  predecessor  of  his 
inferiors  in  nature,  is  to  be  determined  by  exploring 
faithfully  the  realms  of  matter  and  of  spirit  alike,  and 
complementing  the  former  in  the  latter.  Whether  sur 
veyed  in  order  descending  or  ascending,  in  genesis  or 


JULY.  207 

process,  from  the  side  of  the  idealist  or  of  the  nat 
uralist,  the  keystone  of  the  arch  in  either  case  is  an 
ideal,  underpropped  by  matter  or  upheld  by  mind. 

"  If  men  be  worlds,  there  is  in  every  one 
Something  to  answer  in  fit  proportion 
All  the  world's  riches,  and  in  substance  this,  — 
PERSON  his  form's  form,  and  soul's  soul,  is." 

Man,  the  sum  total  of  animals,  transcends  all  in 
being  a  Person,  a  responsible  creature.  "  The  dis 
tinguishing  mark,"  says  Aristotle,  "  between  man  and 
the  lower  animals  is  this  :  that  he  alone  is  endowed  with 
the  power  of  knowing  good  and  evil,  justice  and  injus 
tice,  and  it  is  a  participation  in  this  that  constitutes  a 
family  and  a  city."  /_Man  is  man  in  virtue  of  being  a 
Person,  a  self-determining  will,  held  accountable  to 
a  spiritual  Ideal.  To  affirm  that  brute  creatures  are 
endowed  with  freedom  and  choice,  the  sense  of  respon 
sibility,  were  to  exalt  them  into  a  spiritual  existence 
and  personality ;  whereas,  it  is  plain  enough  that  they 
are  not  above  deliberation  and  choice,  but  below  it, 
under  the  sway  of  Fate,  as  men  are  when  running 
counter  to  reason  and  conscience.  The  will  bridges 
the  chasm  between  man  and  brute,  and  frees  the  fated 
creature  he  were  else.  Solitary,  not  himself,  the 
victim  of  appetite,  inmate  of  the  den,  is  man  till  freed 
from  individualism,  and  delivered  into  his  free  Per 
sonality.  "Ye  must  be  born  again." 


208  CONCOED  DATS. 

The  conflict  between  man's  desires  and  satisfactions 
declares  bis  defection  from  Personal  holiness.  While 
at  one  personally  with  himself,  life  suffices,  his  wants 
are  seconded  as  they  rise,  and  his  self-respect  preserved 
inviolate.  But  lapsed  from  personal  rectitude,  fallen 
out  of  and  below  himself,  he  is  at  variance  with  things 
around  as  within,  his  senses  deceive,  his  will  is  divided, 
and  he  becomes  the  victim  of  duplicities,  discontents, 
the  prey  of  remorse. 

"'Tis  a  'miserable  thing,"  says  Glanvil,  "  to  have 
been  happy ;  and  a  self-contented  wretchedness  is  u 
double  one.  Had  felicity  always  been  a  stranger  to 
humanity,  our  present  misery  had  not  been.  And  had 
not  ourselves  been  the  authors  of  our  ruin,  less.  We 
might  have  been  made  unhappy ;  but  since  we  are  mis 
erable,  we  chose  it.  He  that  gave  our  outward  enjoy 
ments  might  have  taken  them  from  us,  but  none  could 
have  robbed  us  of  innocence  but  ourselves.  While  man 
knows  no  sin,  he  is  ignorant  of  nothing  that  it  im 
ports  humanity  to  know ;  but  when  he  has  sinned,  the 
same  transgression  that  opens  his  eyes  to  see  his  own 
shame,  shuts  them  against  most  things  else  but  that,  and 
the  newly-purchased  misery.  With  the  nakedness  of 
his  body,  he  sees  that  of  his  soul,  and  the  blindness 
and  disarray  of  his  faculties  to  which  his  former  inno 
cence  was  a  stranger ;  and  that  which  shows  them 
to  him  makes  them.  No  longer  the  creature  he  was 
made,  he  loses  not  only  his  Maker's  image,  but  his 


JULY.  209 

own.  And  docs  not  much  more  transcend  the  creatures 
placed  at  his  feet,  than  he  comes  short  of  his  ancient 
self." 

Whose  the  decree 
Souls  Magdalens  must  be 
To  know  felicity, 
The  path  to  it 
Through  pleasure's  pit, 
Soft  sin  undress 
Them  of  their  holiness,  — 
Hath  heaven  so  writ  ? 

Happier  the  fate 

That  opes  heaven's  gate 

With  crystal  key 

Of  purity, 

And  thus  fulfils  life's  destiny. 


AUGUST. 


"...    The  milder  sun 
Does  through  a  fragrant  zodiac  run, 
And  as  it  works  the  industrious  bee 
Computes  its  time  as  well  as  we : 
How  can  such  sweet  and  wholesome  hours 
Be  reckoned  but  with  fruits  and  flowers?" 

—  Marvell. 


PLATO'S   LETTERS. 

TUESDAY,  3. 

AYS  like  these  give  dignity  and  loveliness  to  the 
landscape  ;  the  scene  enhanced  by  imperial  tints 
of  gold  and  purple,  the  orchards  bending  with  their 
ruddy  burdens.  It  is  the  season  of  nectar  and  am 
brosia,  and  suggests  the  Platonic  bees,  the  literature 
and  conversation  of  the  Academy  and  Lyceum. 

Very  interesting  reading  these  letters  of  Plato,  and 
a  goodly  volume  to  hold  in  one's  hand,  in  antique  type 
and  binding.  Whether  a  reprint  would  reward  the  pub 
lisher,  I  cannot  say.  His  seventh  letter  is  an  affecting 
piece  of  autobiography,  and,  taken  with  Plutarch's  Dion, 
gives  the  best  picture  of  his  journeys  to  Syracuse  that 
history  affords. 

"For  it  is  a  thing,"  he  writes  to  the  Kindred  and 
Friends  of  Dion,  "  altogether  correct  and  honorable 
for  him  who  aspires  after  things  the  most  honorable, 
both  to  himself  and  his  country,  to  suffer  whatever  he 
may  suffer  ;  for  not  one  of  us  is  naturally  immortal ;  nor 


214  CONCOED  DAY8. 

if  this  should  happen  to  any  one  would  he  become 
happy,  as  it  seems  he  would  to  the  multitude.  For  in 
things  inanimate  there  is  nothing  either  good  or  evil 
worthy  of  mention,  but  good  or  ill  will  happen  to  each 
soul,  either  existing  with  the  body,  or  separated  from  it. 
But  it  is  ever  requisite  to  trust  really  to  the  sacred  ac 
counts  of  the  olden  times,  which  inform  us  that  the  soul 
is  immortal,  and  has  judges  of  its  conduct,  and  suffers 
the  greatest  punishments  when  liberated  from  the  body. 
Hence,  it  is  requisite  to  think  it  is  a  lesser  evil  to 
suffer,  than  to  commit  the  greatest  sins  and  injuries." 

"  And  I  should  have  felt  more  justly  against  those 
who  murdered  Dion,  an  anger,  in  a  certain  manner, 
almost  as  great  as  against  Dionysius ;  for  both  had 
injured  myself  and  all  the  rest,  so  to  say,  in  the  highest 
degree.  For  the  former  had  destroyed  a  man  who  was 
willing  to  make  use  of  justice ;  while  the  latter  was 
unwilling  to  make  use  of  it  through  the  whole  of  his 
dominions,  although  possessing  the  highest  power.  In 
which  dominions  had  philosophy  and  power  existed 
really,  as  it  were,  in  the  same  dwelling,  they  would 
have  set  up  amongst  men,  both  Greeks  and  barbarians, 
an  opinion  not  vainly  shining,  and  in  every  respect  the 
true  one,  that  neither  a  state  nor  a  man  can  ever  be 
happy  unless  by  leading  a  life  with  prudence  in  subjec 
tion  to  justice,  whether  possessing  those  things  them 
selves,  or  by  being  brought  up  in  the  habits  of  holy 
persons,  their  rulers,  or  instructed  in  justice." 


AUGUST.  215 

"  This  injury  did  Dionysius  inflict.  But  the  rest  would 
have  been  a  trifling  wrong  as  compared  to  these.  But 
he  who  murdered  Dion  did  not  know  that  he  had  done 
the  same  deed  as  Dionysius.  For  I  clearly  know,  as 
far  as  possible  for  one  man  to  speak  confidently  of  an 
other,  that  if  Dion  had  attained  power,  he  would  never 
have  changed  it  to  any  other  form  of  government  than 
to  that  by  which  he  first  caused  Syracuse,  his  own 
country,  after  he  had  delivered  it  from  slavery,  to  look 
joyous,  and  had  put  it  into  the  garb  of  freedom ;  and 
after  all  this,  he  would  by  every  contrivance  have 
adorned  the  citizens  with  laws  both  befitting  and  best ; 
and  he  would  have  been  ready  to  do  what  followed  in 
due  order  after  this,  and  have  colonized  the  whole  of 
Sicily,  and  have  freed  it  from  the  barbarians,  by  ex 
pelling  some  and  subduing  others,  more  easily  than 
Hiero  did.  But  if  these  things  had  taken  place  through 
a  man  just,  brave,  and  temperate,  and  who  was  a  phi 
losopher,  the  same  opinion  of  virtue  would  have  been 
produced  amongst  the  multitude,  as  would  have  been 
amongst  all  men,  so  to  say,  and  have  saved  Dionysius, 
had  he  been  persuaded  by  me.  But  now  some  daemon, 
surely,  or  some  evil  spirit,  falling  upon  with  iniquity 
and  impiety,  and  what  is  the  greatest  matter,  with  the 
audacity  of  ignorance,  in  which  all  evils  are  rooted, 
and  from  which  they  spring  up,  and  afterwards  pro 
duce  fruit  the  most  bitter  to  those  who  have  begotten 
it,  —  this  has  a  second  time  subverted  and  destroyed 
everything.  However,  let  us,  for  the  sake  of  a 


216  CONCORD  DAYS. 

good   augury,  keep  for  the  third  time  a  well-omened 
silence."  * 

One  sees  the  noble  spirit  of  Plato  in  these  passages, 
and  feels  how  the  death  of  his  friend  and  pupil,  Dion, 
at  the  moment  when  he  had  won  the  freedom  of  his 
country,  and  a  sphere  for  proving  his  master's  ideas  in 
its  rule,  must  have  affected  Plato,  and  the  friends  of 
Dion.  If  doubts  have  been  entertained  as  to  the  gen 
uineness  of  these  letters,  it  is  plain  they  were  written 
by  some  intimate  friend  of  his,  or  of  Dion,  and  have 
the  merit,  at  least,  of  historical  accuracy  and  evi 
dence. 


*  " The  great  interest  is  not  in  the  present  city  of  Syracuse"  (writes  a 
traveller,  Feb.  9, 1869),  "but  in  its  vicinity,  where  we  inspect  the  doings  of 
Greeks  twenty-five  to  three  thousand  years  ago,  and  of  the  Romans  at  a  later 
date.  Their  works  are  constructed  out  of  the  solid  rock,  and  have  withstood 
the  terrible  earthquakes  which  have  completely  destroyed  all  traces  of  other 
works.  Among  the  interesting  objects  in  the  city  is  the  cathedral,  formerly 
the  temple  of  Minerva,  which  is  a  magnificent  specimen  of  Doric  architec 
ture,  and  has  continued  to  be  a  place  of  worship  through  all  the  changes  of 
idolatry  and  Christianity,  for  twenty-five  hundred  years ;  the  church  of  St. 
Marcian  here  puts  in  its  claim  to  have  been  the  first  church  in  Europe  in 
•which  Christian  worship  was  celebrated  Full  of  interest  are  the  catacombs 
and  the  ancient  prisons  in  the  quarries  from  which  the  materials  of  Syracuse 
•were  taken ;  here  is  the  Ear  of  Dionysius,  the  tyrant  of  Syracuse,  a  prison 
BO  arranged  that  every  word  spoken  within  it  was  re-echoed  into  his  cham 
ber,  where  it  is  said  he  passed  entire  days  listening  to  the  complaints  of  hia 
victims.  Here,  too,  is  the  famous  fountain  of  Arethusa,  one  of  the  Nereads, 
and  whom  Virgil  reckons  among  the  Sicilian  nymphs,  as  the  divinity  who 
inspired  pastoral  poetry.  Syracuse  was  at  different  periods  the  residence 
of  Plato,  Simonides,  Zeno,  and  Cicero ;  it  was  the  place  where  Ilicetus  first 
propounded  the  true  revolution  of  the  earth;  it  was  the  birthplace  of  the 
poets  Theocritus  and  Moschus,  and  the  philosopher  Archimedes,  who  lost 
his  life  at  the  capture  of  the  city  by  the  Romans." 


AUGUST.  217 

PLATO.* 

It  was  a  common  speech  among  the  Athenians,  that 
Apollo  begat  JEsculapius  and  Plato,  —  the  one  to  cure 
bodies,  the  other,  souls.  Certainly  the  last  was  of  di 
vine  extraction  ;  his  life  and  thoughts  fruitful  in  genius 
and  immortality.  Like  other  superior  persons,  his  birth 
is  traced  to  a  divine  ancestry,  and  dignified  with  fables. 
His  mother,  Perictione,  was  a  descendant  of  Solon,  and 
a  woman  of  extraordinary  beauty.  Aristo,  his  father, 
was  of  an  eminent  family.  To  him  Apollo  appeared  in 
a  dream,  enjoining  upon  him  respect  for  his  wife's 
maternity ;  and,  in  accordance  with  the  vision,  it  was 
affirmed,  — 

*'  He  did  not  issue  from  a  mortal  bed ; 
A  god  his  sire,  a  godlike  life  he  led." 

Whilst  he  was  yet  an  infant,  carried  in  his  mother's 
arms,  Aristo  went  to  Hymettus  to  sacrifice  to  the 
Muses,  taking  his  wife  and  child  with  him.  As  they 
were  busied  in  the  divine  rites,  she  laid  the  babe  in  a 
thicket  of  myrtles  hard  by,  to  whom,  as  he  slept,  came 
a  swarm  of  bees,  artists  of  Hymettian  honey,  flying  and 
buzzing  about  him,  and  (so  runs  the  myth)  made  a 
honeycomb  in  his  mouth,  —  this  being  a  presage  of  the 
singular  sweetness  of  his  future  eloquence  foreseen  in 
infancy. 

As  things  fall  out,  not  by  chance,  but  by  divine  ordi- 

*  Born  B.  C.  429;  died  348. 
10 


218  CONCOED  DAYS. 

nation,  and  are  intimated  in  advance,  for  the  most  part, 
so  Socrates,  who  was  to  win  the  noblest  of  the  Athenian 
youths  for  his  pupil  and  disciple,  dreamed,  the  night 
before  Plato  was  commended  to  him,  that  a  young  swan 
fled  from  Cupid's  altar  in  the  Academy,  and  sat  upon 
his  lap,  thence  flew  up  to  heaven,  delighting  both  gods 
and  men  with  its  music.  Next  day,  as  he  was  relating 
this  to  some  of  his  friends,  Aristo  came  to  him,  and 
presented  his  son  Plato  to  be  his  pupil.  As  soon  as 
Socrates  saw  him,  reading  in  his  looks  his  ingenuity, 
tk  Friends,"  said  he,  u  this  is  the  swan  of  Cupid's 
Academy." 

Whilst  a  child,  he  was  remarkable  for  his  sharpness 
of  apprehension,  and  the  admirable  modesty  of  his  dis 
position  ;  the  beginnings  of  his  youth  being  seasoued 
with  labor  and  love  of  study,  which  virtues  increased 
and  harmonized  with  all  others  when  he  came  to  man's 
estate.  He  early  learned  the  art  of  wrestling,  and 
became  so  great  a  proficient  that  he  took  part  in  the 
Isthmian  and  Pythian  games.  As  in  years  and  virtue, 
so  likewise  he  increased  extraordinarily  in  bodily  pro 
portion  and  shape,  insomuch  that  Aristo  named  him 
Plato,  which  implies  breadth  of  shoulders  and  bold  elo 
quence.  He  also  studied  painting  and  poetiy,  writing 
epics  after  the  manner  of  Homer ;  but,  finding  how  far 
he  fell  short  of  him,  he  committed  them  to  the  flames. 
Intending  to  contest  for  the  palm  at  the  Olympic  Thea 
tre,  he  wrote  some  dramatic  pieces,  and  gave  them  to 
the  players,  to  be  performed  at  the  festivals.  But  the 


AUGUST.  219 

day  before  these  were  to  have  been  presented,  chancing 
to  hear  Socrates  discourse  in  the  theatre  before  the 
Bacchanals,  he  was  so  taken  with  him  that  he  not  only 
forbore  to  contest  at  the  time,  but  wholly  gave  over  all 
tragic  poetry,  and  burned  his  verses.  From  that  time, 
being  then  in  his  twentieth  year,  he  became  a  follower 
of  Socrates,  and  studied  philosophy. 

He  studied  eight  years  with  Socrates,  committing,  as 
was  the  custom  with  his  scholars,  the  substance  of  his 
master's  discourses  to  writing.  Of  these  were  some  of 
his  Dialogues  afterwards  composed,  with  such  additions 
of  argument  and  ornament  that  Socrates,  hearing  him 
recite  his  Lysis,  exclaimed,  "  O  Hercules  !  how  many 
things  this  young  man  fables  of  me  !  " 

He  was  one  of  the  youngest  of  the  Senate  at  the 
time  of  Socrates'  arraignment.  The  judges  being  much 
displeased  with  Socrates,  Plato  took  the  orator's  chair, 
intending  to  plead  in  his  master's  defence,  beginning, 
"  Though  I,  Athenians,  am  the  youngest  of  those  that 
come  to  this  place,"  -  -  but,  as  all  the  Senate  were 
against  his  speaking,  he  was  constrained  to  leave  the 
chair.  Socrates  being  condemned,  Plato  offered  to 
obtain  the  money  for  purchasing  his  liberty,  which 
Socrates  refused.  Upon  the  death  of  Socrates,  Plato, 
—  whose  excessive  grief  is  mentioned  by  Plutarch,  — 
with  others  of  his  disciples,  fearing  the  tyranny  of 
those  who  put  their  master  to  death,  fled  to  Euclid  at 
Megara,  who  befriended  and  entertained  them  till  the 
storm  was  blown  over.  He  afterwards  travelled  in 


220  CONCORD  DAYS. 

Italy,  where  he  addicted  himself  to  the  discipline  of 
Pythagoras,  which,  though  he  saw  it  replenished  with 
curious  and  high  reason,  yet  he  chiefly  affected  the  con 
tinence  and  chastity,  along  with  the  knowledge  of 
nature,  possessed  by  that  school. 

Desiring  to  add  to  the  knowledge  of  the  Pythago 
reans  the  benefits  of  other  disciplines,  he  went  to  Gyrene 
to  learn  geometry  of  Theodorus,  the  mathematician ; 
thence  into  Egypt,  under  pretence  of  selling  oil,  —  the 
scope  of  his  journey  thither  being  to  bring  the  knowl 
edge  of  astrology  from  thence,  and  to  be  instructed  in 
the  rites  of  the  prophets  and  the  mysteries.  Having 
taken  a  full  survey  of  the  country,  he  settled  himself 
at  Sais,  learning  of  the  school  of  wise  men  there  the 
doctrines  of  the  universe,  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
and  its  transmigrations.  From  Egypt  he  returned  to 
Tarentum  in  Italy,  where  he  conversed  with  Archytas 
the  elder,  and  other  Pythagoreans,  adding  to  the  learn 
ing  of  Socrates  that  of  Pythagoras.  He  would  have 
gone  also  to  India  to  study  with  the  Magi ;  but  the  wars 
then  raging  in  Asia  prevented.  While  in  Egypt  he 
probably  became  familiar  with  the  opinions  of  Hermes 
Trismegistus.  That  he  also  received  some  light  from 
Moses  is  probable,  since  his  laws  were  translated  into 
Greek  before  Alexander's  time,  and  Josephus,  the  Jew, 
affirms,  "  that  he  chiefly  followed  our  Lawgiver."  And 
Numenius  asks,  v'  Of  philosophers,  what  is  Plato  but 
Moses  speaking  Greek  ?  "  It  is  known  that  he  brought 
from  Sicily,  where  he  went  thrice,  at  the  invitation  of 


AUGUST.  221 

Dionysius  the  younger,  the  three  books  of  Philolaus, 
the  Pythagorean,  on  natural  philosophy,  the  first  that 
were  published  out  of  that  school.  These  he  appears 
to  have  woven  into  his  dialogue  entitled  "  Timeus." 
Timeon  accuses  him  of  this  appropriation. 

"You  Plato  with  the  same  affection  caught 
With  a  great  sum,  a  little  treatise  bought, 
Where  all  the  knowledge  which  you  own  was  taught,"  — 

alluding  to  his  having  received  of  Dionysius  above 
eighty  talents,  and  being  flush  with  his  money. 

He  is  said  to  owe  much  to  Protagoras,  and  wrote  a 
dialogue  under  that  title.  In  politics,  as  in  morals,  he 
drew  largely  from  the  opinions  of  his  master,  Socrates  ; 
and  it  is  related  that  he  was  indebted  to  the  books  of 
Sophron,  which,  having  been  long  neglected,  were  by 
him  first  brought  to  Athens,  and  found  under  his  pillow 
at  his  death.  Certainly  he,  of  all  scholars,  had  the  best 
right  to  borrow,  since  none  could  recognize  his  own  in 
his  pages,  and  any  author  might  glory  in  being  esteemed 
worthy  of  lending  a  syllable  to  so  consummate  a  creator. 

On  returning  to  Athens  from  his  Egyptian  travels, 
he  settled  himself  in  the  Academy,  a  g}^mnasiuni,  or 
place  of  exercise,  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  surrounded 
by  woods,  and  taking  its  name  from  Academus,  one  of 
the  heroes. 

"  The  fluent,  sweet-tongued  sage  first  led  the  way, 
Who  writes  as  smoothly  as  from  some  green  spray 
Of  Academe  grasshoppers  chirp  their  lay." 


222  CONCORD  DATS. 

The  occasion  of  his  living  here  was  that  he  owned  an 
orchard  adjoining  the  Academy.  In  process  of  time, 
this  orchard  was  much  enlarged  by  good-will,  studious 
persons  bequeathing  of  their  riches  to  the  professors  of 
philosophy,  to  maintain  the  quiet  and  tranquillity  of  a 
philosophical  life.  Here  he  first  taught  philosophy ; 
afterwards  in  the  Gardens  of  Colouus.  At  the  entrance 
of  his  school  was  written,  — 

"Let  none  ignorant  of  geometry  enter  here " ; 

signifying,  by  this  inscription,  not  only  the  proportion 
and  harmony  of  lines,  but  also  of  inward  affections  and 
ideas. 

His  school  took  the  name  of  the  Academy.  He 
thought  it  was  a  great  matter,  in  the  education  of 
youth,  to  accustom  them  to  take  delight  in  good  things  ; 
otherwise,  he  affirmed,  pleasures  were  the  bait  of  evil. 
Education  should  be  conducted  with  a  serene  sweetness, 
never  by  force  or  violence,  but  by  gentleness,  accom 
panied  with  persuasion  and  every  kind  of  invitation. 
His  teaching  was  conducted  by  conversation  or  dia 
logue.  His  method  of  discourse  was  threefold,  —  first, 
to  declare  what  that  is  which  is  taught ;  then,  for  what 
reason  it  is  asserted,  whether  as  a  principal  cause,  or 
as  a  comparison,  and  whether  to  defend  the  tenet,  or 
controvert  it ;  thirdly,  whether  it  be  rightly  said.  He 
expounded  the  things  which  he  conceived  to  be  true ; 
confuted  those  which  were  false ;  suspended  his  opin 
ions  on  those  which  were  doubtful. 


AUGUST.  223 

His  philosoplvy  comprised  the  elements  of  the  school 
of  Ileraclitus,  Pythagoras,  and  Socrates,  combined  in  a 
system  which  he  distributed  into  three  parts,  —  moral, 
consisting  of  action ;  natural,  in  contemplation ;  ra 
tional,  in  distinction  of  true  and  false,  which,  though 
useful  in  all,  yet  belongs  to  pure  thought.  As  of  old, 
in  a  tragedy  the  chorus  acted  alone ;  then  Thespis, 
making  some  intermissions  of  the  chorus,  introduced 
one  actor,  JEschylus  a  second,  Sophocles  a  third ;  in 
like  manner,  philosophy  was  at  first  but  of  one  kind,  — 
physic  j  then  Socrates  added  ethic ;  thirdly,  Plato, 
inventing  dialectic,  made  it  perfect. 

This  third  part,  dialectic,  consisting  in  reason  and 
dissertation,  he  treated  thus  :  Though  judgments  arise 
from  the  sense,  yet  the  judgment  of  truth  is  not  in  the 
senses.  The  mind  alone  is  the  judge  of  things,  and 
only  fit  to  be  credited,  because  the  mind  alone  sees  that 
which  is  simple,  uniform,  and  certain,  which  is  named 
Idea.  All  sense  he  conceived  to  be  obtuse  and  slow, 
and  nowise  able  to  perceive  those  things  which  seem 
subject  to  sense ;  those  things  being  so  minute  that 
they  cannot  fall  under  sense  ;  so  movable  and  various, 
that  nothing  is  one,  constant  and  the  same  ;  all  are  in 
continual  alteration  and  movement,  and  subjects  of 
opinion  only.  Science  he  affirmed  to  be  nowhere  but 
in  the  reasons  and  thoughts  of  the  mind,  whose  objects 
are  ideas,  whence  he  approved  definitions  of  things, 
and  applied  these  to  whatsoever  subject  he  discussed, 
discriminating  things  and  naming  them  etyinologically. 


224  CONCOED  DAYS. 

In  this  consisted  the  discipline  of  dialectic  ;  that  is,  of 
speech  concluded  by  reason.  Though  Socrates  prac 
tised  conversation  by  way  of  question  and  answer,  or 
dialogue,  yet  Plato  so  much  refined  the  form,  both  in 
speech  and  composition,  that  he  deserves  to  be  preferred 
before  others,  as  well  for  invention  as  reformation.  The 
analytical  method,  which  reduces  the  thing  sought  into 
its  principle,  is  his  invention.* 

Several  words  were  also  introduced  by  him  in  philos 
ophy.  Of  these  are  "  element,"  which  before  his  time 
was  confounded  with  "  principle."  He  distinguished 
them  thus  :  "  Principle  is  that  which  has  nothing  before 
it  whereof  it  might  be  generated ;  elements  are  com 
pounded."  The  word  "poem"  was  first  used  by  him. 

*  "Plato,"  says  Grote,  "appreciated  dialogue,  not  only  as  the  road  to  a 
conclusion,  but  for  the  mental  discipline  and  suggestive  influences  of  the 
tentative  and  verifying  process.  It  was  his  purpose  to  create  in  his  hearers 
a  disposition  to  prosecute  philosophical  researches  of  their  own,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  strengthen  their  ability  of  doing  this  with  effect.  This  remark 
is  especially  confirmed  in  the  two  dialogues,  the  Sophisticus  and  Politicus, 
wherein  he  defends  himself  against  reproaches  seemingly  made  at  the  time. 
To  what  does  all  this  tend?  Why  do  you  stray  so  widely  from  your  pro 
fessed  topic  ?  Could  you  not  have  reached  the  point  by  a  shorter  road  ?  He 
replies  by  distinctly  proclaiming  —  that  the  process,  with  its  improving  in 
fluence  on  the  mind,  stands  first  in  his  thoughts,  the  direct  conclusion  of  the 
inquiry  only  second;  that  the  special  topic  which  he  discusses,  though  n 
itself  important,  is  nevertheless  chosen  primarily  with  a  view  to  its  effect  in 
communicating  general  method  and  dialectical  aptitude,  just  as  a  schoolmas 
ter,  when  he  gives  out  to  his  pupils  a  word  to  be  spelt,  looks  mainly,  not  to 
the  exactness  in  spelling  the  particular  word,  but  to  their  command  of  good 
spelling  generally.  To  form  inquisitive  testing  minds,  fond  of  philosophical 
debate  as  a  pursuit,  and  looking  at  opinions  on  the  negative  as  on  the  posi 
tive  side,  is  the  first  object  of  most  of  Plato's  dialogues :  to  teach  positive 
truth,  is  only  a  secondary  object."—  Grate's  Plato,  Vol.  II,  p.  399. 


AUGUST.  225 

So  were  "superficies"  and  "antipodes."  "Divine 
providence,"  words  since  appropriated  by  Christian 
theologians,  was  first  an  expression  of  Plato's.  He, 
too,  first  considered  the  force  and  efficacy  of  grammar 
as  the  organ  of  pure  thought. 

His  school  was  the  pride  of  Athens,  and  drew  into  it 
its  most  gifted  youth,  as  well  as  scholars  from  abroad. 
His  most  distinguished  disciples  were  Speusippus,  his 
nephew,  whom  he  reformed  by  his  example  and  teach 
ings,  and  who  became  eminent  as  a  philosopher,  suc 
ceeding  him  in  the  Academy ;  Xenocrates,  whom  he 
much  loved  ;  Aristotle,  the  Stagirite,  whom  Plato  used 
to  call  a  wild  colt,  foreseeing  that  he  would  oppose  him 
in  his  philosophy,  as  a  colt,  having  sucked,  kicks  its 
dam.  Xenocrates  was  slow,  Aristotle  quick,  in  ex 
tremity  ;  whence  Plato  saiJ  of  them,  "  See  what  an 
unequal  team  this  of  mine.  What  an  ass  and  horse  to 
yoke  together ! " 

Isocrates  the  orator,  and  Demosthenes,  were  among 
his  auditors ;  Dion  of  Syracuse  was  an  intimate  friend 
of  his,  and  by  his  persuasions  he  made  two  journeys  to 
Syracuse,  at  one  of  which  he  was  sold  into  slavery  by 
the  tyranny  of  Dionysius,  and  being  redeemed  by  his 
friend,  returned  to  Athens,  as  is  related  by  Plutarch. 
Xenophon  was  his  contemporary. 

At  home  he  lived  quietly  in  the  Academy,  not  taking 
part  in  public  affairs,  the  laws  and  customs  of  the 
Athenians  not  being  in  harmony  with  his  ideas  of  re 
publican  institutions.  "  Princes,"  he  said,  "  had  no 


226  CON-COED  DATS. 

better  possessions  than  the  familiarity  of  such  men  as 
could  not  natter,  wisdom  being  as  necessary  to  a  prince 
as  the  soul  to  the  body ;  and  that  kingdoms  would  be 
most  happy  if  either  philosophers  ruled,  or  the  rulers 
were  inspired  with  philosophy,  since  nothing  is  more 
pernicious  than  power  and  arrogance  accompanied  with 
ignorance.  Subjects  should  be  such  as  princes  seem  to 
be."  And  he  held  that  a  philosopher  might  retire  from 
the  commonwealth  if  its  affairs  were  unjustly  adminis 
tered.  "  A  just  man  was  a  perpetual  magistrate." 

He  affirmed  that  philosophy  was  the  true  helper  of 
the  soul,  all  else  but  ornamental ;  that  nothing  is  more 
pleasing  to  a  sound  mind  than  to  speak  and  hear  the 
truth  spoken,  than  which  nothing  is  better  or  more 
lasting, 

The  study  of  philosophy,  if  it  made  him  select  in  the 
choice  of  his  associates,  did  not  sour  his  temper,  nor 
render  him  exclusive  in  his  intercourse  and  fellowship 
with  mankind.  At  the  Olympian  games,  he  once  fell 
into  company  with  some  strangers  who  did  not  know 
him,  upon  whose  affections  he  gained  greatly  by  his 
affable  conversation,  dining  and  spending  the  day  with 
them,  never  mentioning  either  the  Academy  or  Socrates, 
only  saying  his  name  was  Plato.  When  they  came  to 
Athens,  he  entertained  them  courteously.  "  Come, 
Plato."  said  the  strangers,  "  now  show  us  your  name 
sake,  Socrates'  disciple.  Take  us  to  the  Academy : 
recommend  us  to  him,  that  we  may  know  him."  He, 
smiling  a  little,  as  he  used,  said,  "  I  am  the  man." 


AUGUST.  227 

Whereat  they  were  greatly  amazed,  having  conversed 
so  familiarly  with  a  person  of  that  eminence,  who  used 
no  boasting  or  ostentation,  and  showed  that,  besides  his 
philosophical  discourse,  his  ordinary  conversation  was 
extremely  winning. 

He  lived  single,  yet  soberly  and  chastely.  So  con 
stant  was  he  in  his  composure  and  gravity,  that  a  youth 
brought  up  under  him,  returning  to  his  parents,  and 
hearing  his  father  speak  vehemently  and  loudly,  said, 
"  I  never  found  this  in  Plato."  He  ate  but  once  a  day, 
or,  if  the  second  time,  very  sparingly,  abstaining  mostly 
from  animal  food.  He  slept  alone,  and  much  discom 
mended  the  contrary  practice. 

Of  his  prudence,  patience,  moderation,  and  magna 
nimity,  and  other  virtues,  there  are  many  instances 
recorded.  When  he  left  his  school,  he  was  wont  to  say, 
"  See,  3rouths,  that  you  employ  your  idle  hours  usefully. 
Prefer  labor  before  idleness,  unless  you  esteem  rust 
above  brightness." 

To  Philedonus,  who  blamed  him  that  he  was  as  stu 
dious  to  learn  as  teach,  and  asked  him  how  long  he 
meant  to  be  a  disciple,  he  replied,  "  As  long  as  I  am 
not  ashamed  of  growing  better  and  wiser." 

Being  asked  what  difference  there  was  between  a 
learned  man  and  unlearned,  —  "  The  same  as  betwixt 
a  physician  and  patient." 

To  Antisthcnes,  making  a  long  oration,  —  "  You  for 
get  that  discourse  is  to  be  measured  by  the  hearer,  not 
the  speaker." 


228  CONCORD  DAYS. 

Hearing  a  vicious  person  speak  in  defence  of  another, 
—  '•  This  man,"  said  he,  "  carries  his  heart  in  his 
tongue."  He  blamed  having  musicians  at  feasts,  "  to 
hinder  discourse." 

S.eeing  the  Agregentines  so  magnificent  in  building, 
and  luxurious  in  feasting,  —  "  These  people,"  said  he, 
"  build  as  if  they  were  immortal,  and  eat  as  if  they 
were  to  die  instantly." 

He  advised  "  drunken  and  angry  men  to  look  in  the 
glass  if  they  would  refrain  from  those  vices,"  and 
Xenocrates,  by  reason  of  his  severe  countenance,  "  to 
sacrifice  to  the  Graces." 

Being  desirous  to  wean  Timotheus,  the  son  of  Canon, 
the  Athenian  general,  from  sumptuous  military  feasts, 
he  invited  him  into  the  Academy  to  a  plain  moderate 
supper,  such  as  pleasing  sleep  succeeds  in  a  good  tem 
per  of  body.  The  next  day,  Timotheus,  observing  the 
difference,  said,  "  They  who  feasted  with  Plato  never 
complained  the  next  morning." 

His  servant  having  displeased  him  for  some  offence, 
he  said  to  him,  "  Were  I  not  angry,  I  should  chastise 
you  for  it."  At  another  time,  his  servant  being  found 
faulty,  he  had  him  lay  off  his  coat ;  and,  while  he  stood 
with  his  hand  raised,  a  friend  coming  in  asked  him 
what  he  was  doing  "  Punishing  an  angry  man,"  said 
he.  It  was  a  saying  of  his,  that  "  no  wise  man  pun 
ishes  in  respect  of  past  faults,  but  for  preventing  future 
ones." 

On  being  told  that  some  one  spoke  ill  of  him,  he  an- 


AUGUST.  229 

swcrcd,  "  No  matter :  I  will  live  so  that  none  shall 
believe  him."  When  asked  whether  there  should  be 
any  record  left  to  posterity  of  his  actions  or  sayings, 
—  "  First,"  said  he,  "  we  must  get  a  name,  then  many 
things  follow." 

Continuing  a  single  life  to  his  end,  and  not  having 
any  heirs  of  his  own,  he  bequeathed  his  estate  to  his 
nephew,  young  Adimantus,  the  son  of  Adimantus,  his 
second  brother.  Besides  his  orchard  and  grounds  in 
herited  or  added  by  purchase,  he  left  to  him  "  three 
mina  of  silver,  a  golden  cup,  and  a  finger  and  ear-rings 
of  gold.  The  gold  ear-ring  was  one  he  wore  when  a 
bo}T,  as  a  badge  of  his  nobility ;  and  the  golden  cup 
was  one  of  sacrifice.  He  left  to  his  servants,  Ticho, 
Bictus,  and  Apolloniades,  Dionysius'  goods."  He 
"  owed  no  man  anything." 

He  died  on  his  eighty-first  birthday,  for  which  reason 
the  Magi  at  Athens  sacrificed  to  him,  as  conceiving  him 
to  have  been  more  than  man,  and  as  having  fulfilled  the 
most  perfect  number,  nine  multiplied  into  itself.  He 
died  of  old  age  ;  which  Seneca  ascribes  to  his  temper 
ance  and  diligence. 

This,  among  other  epitaphs,  was  inscribed  on  his 
tombstone :  — 

"  Earth  in  her  bosom  Plato's  body  hides  : 
His  soul  amongst  the  deathless  gods  resides. 
Aristo's  son,  whose  fame  to  strangers  spread, 
Made  them  admire  the  sacred  life  he  led." 

Plutarch  tells  that  Solon  began   the   story  of  the 


230  CONCORD  DATS. 

Atlantides,  which  he  had  learned  of  the  priests  of  Sais, 
but  gave  it  over  on  account  of  Ms  old  age  and  the 
largeness  of  the  work.  He  adds  that  "  Plato,  taking 
the  same  argument  as  a  waste  piece  of  fertile  ground 
fallen  to  him  by  hereditary  right,  manured,  refined,  and 
inclosed  it  with  large  walls,  porches,  and  galleries,  such 
as  never  any  fable  had  before  ;  but  he  too,  undertaking 
it  late,  died  before  completing  it.  '  The  more  things 
written  delight  us,  the  more  they  disappoint  us/  he  re 
marks,  '  when  not  finished.'  For  as  the  Athenian  city 
left  the  temple  of  Jupiter,  so  Plato's  wsdom,  amongst 
many  writings,  left  the  Atlantides  alone  imperfect." 

The  order  in  which  his  dialogues  were  written  is  yet 
a  question  of  dispute  with  scholars.  It  is  conceded, 
however,  that  the  "  Republic  "  and  the  "  Laws  "  were 
completed,  if  not  wholly  written,  in  his  old  age.  Nor 
is  the  number  of  his  dialogues  accurately  determined. 
Some  attributed  to  him  are  supposed  to  be  spurious,  as 
are  some  of  the  letters.  All  are  contained  in  Bohn's 
edition  of  the  works  of  Plato,  and  accessible  in  schol 
arly  translations  to  the  English  reader.* 

Of  the  great  minds  of  antiquity,  Plato  stands  pre 
eminent  in  breadth  and  beauty  of  speculation.  His 

*  Among  the  works  deserving  of  a  wider  circulation  is  Thomas  Stanley's 
"  History  of  Philosophy."  It  well  repays  perusal,  compiled  as  it  was  by  an 
enthusiastic  student  of  ancient  thought,  from  reliable  sources,  and  embody 
ing,  in  an  attractive  style,  "the  Lives,  Opinions,  Actions,  and  Discourses  of  the 
Philosophers  of  every  Sect,  illustrated  with  Portraits  of  many  of  them.  Third 
edition.  Folio,  pp.  750.  London,  1701."  The  preceding  notes  are  mostly 
extracted  from  this  history. 


AUGUST.  231 

books  are  the  most  suggestive,  sensible,  the  friendliest, 
and,  one  may  say,  most  modern  of  books.  And  it  al 
most  atones  for  any  poverty  of  thought  in  our  time,  this 
admission  to  a  mind  thus  opulent  in  the  grandeur  and 
graces  of  intelligence,  giving  one  a  sense  of  his  debt  to 
genius  and  letters.  His  works  are  a  cosmos,  as  Py 
thagoras  named  the  world.  And  one  rises  from  their 
perusal  as  if  returned  from  a  circumnavigation  of  the 
globe  of  knowledge,  human  and  divine.  So  capacious 
was  his  genius,  so  comprehensive,  so  inclusive,  so  sub 
tile,  and  so  versatile,  withal,  that  he  readily  absorbed 
the  learning  of  his  time,  moulding  this  into  a  bod}r  of 
beauty  and  harmony  compact ;  working  out,  with  the 
skill  and  completeness  of  a  creator,  the  perfect  whole 
we  see.  His  erudition  was  commensurate  with  his 
genius,  and  he  the  sole  master  of  his  tools  ;  since  in 
him  we  have  an  example,  as  successful  as  it  was  daring, 
of  an  endeavor  to  animate  and  give  individuality  to  his 
age  in  the  persons  whose  ideas  gave  birth  to  the  age 
itself.  And  fortunate  it  was  for  him,  as  for  his  readers, 
that  he  had  before  him  a  living  illustration  of  his  time 
in  the  person  of  the  chief  character  in  his  dialogues, 
Socrates  himself. 

Of  these  dialogues,  the  "  Republic  "  is  the  most  cele 
brated,  embodying  his  ripest  knowledge.  It  fables  a 
city  planted  in  the  divine  ideas  of  truth  and  justice 
as  these  are  symbolized  in  human  forms  a,nd  natural 
things.  And  one  reads  with  emotions  of  surprise  at 
finding  so  much  of  sense  and  wisdom  embodied  in  a 


232  CONCORD  DATS. 

form  so  fair,  and,of  such  wide  application,  as  if  it  were 
suited  to  all  peoples  and  times.  Where  in  philosophic 
literature  is  found  a  structure  of  thought  so  firmly  fixed 
on  natural  foundations,  and  placing  beyond  cavil  or 
question  the  supremac}r  of  mind  over  matter,  portray 
ing  so  vividly  the  passage  of  ideas  through  the  world, 
and  thus  delivering  down  a  divine  order  of  society  to 
mankind  ?  * 

In  reading  his  works,  one  must  have  the  secret  of  his 
method.  Written,  as  these  are,  in  the  simplest  style 
of  composition,  his  reader  may  sometimes  weary  of  the 
slow  progress  of  the  argument,  and  lose  himself  in  the 
devious  windings  of  the  dialogue.  But  this  is  the  sole 
subtraction  from  the  pleasure  of  perusal,  —  the  volumi 
nous  sacrifices  thus  made  to  method :  so  much  given  to 
compliment,  to  dulness,  in  the  interlinked  threads  of 
the  golden  colloquy.  Yet  Plato  rewards  as  none  other ; 
his  regal  text  is  everywhere  charged  with  lively  sense, 
flashing  in  every  line,  every  epithet,  episode,  with  the 
rubies  and  pearls  of  universal  wisdom.  And  the  read 
ing  is  a  coronation  f 

*  If  his  "Republic"  and  "Laws"  hardly  justify  him  against  those  who 
accused  him  of  having  written  a  form  of  government,  which  he  could  per 
suade  none  to  practise,  it  may  be  said,  in  his  favor,  that  he  gave  laws  to  the 
Syracusians  and  Cretans,  refusing  the  like  to  the  Ayreneans  and  Thebans, 
saying,  "  It  was  difficult  to  prescribe  laws  to  men  in  prosperity." 

t  "The  philosophy  of  the  fourth  century,  B.  C.,"  says  Grrote,  "  is  pecu 
liarly  valuable  and  interesting,  not  merely  from  its  intrinsic  speculative 
worth,  — from  the  originality  and  grandeur  of  its  two  principal  heroes,  Plato 
and  Aristotle,  —  from  its  coincidence  with  the  full  display  of  dramatic, 
rhetorical,  artistic  genius,  but  also  frotn  a  fourth  reason  not  uuimportaut 


AUGUST.  233 

Plato's  views  of  social  life  are  instructive.  His  idea 
of  woman,  of  her  place  and  function,  should  interest 
women  of  our  time.  They  might  find  much  to  admire, 
and  less  to  criticise  than  they  imagine.  His  opinions 
were  greatly  in  advance  of  the  practice  of  his  own  time, 
and,  in  some  important  particulars,  of  ours,  and  which, 
if  carried  into  legislation,  would  favorably  affect  social 
purity.  His  proposition  to  inflict  a  fine  on  bachelors, 
and  deny  them  political  privileges,  is  a  compliment  to 
marriage,  showing  in  what  estimate  he  held  that  rela 
tion.  So  his  provision  for  educating  the  children,  find 
giving  women  a  place  in  the  government  of  the  republic, 


Because  it  is  purely  Hellenic ;  preceding  the  development  of  Alexandrian  and 
the  amalgamation  of  Oriental  veins  of  thought,  with  the  inspirations  of  the 
Academy  and  the  Lyceum.  The  Orentes  and  the  Jordan  had  not  yet  begun 
to  flow  westward,  and  to  impart  their  own  color  to  the  waters  of  Attica  and 
Latium.  Not  merely  the  real,  but  also  the  ideal,  world  present  to  the  minds 
of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  were  purely  Hellenic.  Even  during  the  century  im 
mediately  following,  this  had  ceased  to  be  fully  true  in  respect  to  the  philos 
ophers  of  Athens;  and  it  became  less  and  less  true  with  each  succeeding 
century.  New  foreign  centres  of  rhetoric  and  literature,  Asiatic  and  Alex 
andrian  Hellenism,  were  fostered  into  importance  by  regal  enactments. 
Plato  and  Aristotle  are  thus  the  special  representatives  of  genuine  Hellenio 
philosophy.  The  remarkable  intellectual  ascendancy  acquired  by  them  in 
their  day  and  maintained  over  succeeding  centuries,  was  one  main  reason 
why  the  Hellenic  vein  was  enabled  so  long  to  maintain  itself,  though  in  im 
poverished  condition,  against  adverse  influences  from  the  East,  ever  increas 
ing  in  force.  Plato  and  Aristotle  outlasted  all  their  pagan  successors,  —  suc 
cessors  at  once  less  purely  Hellenic  and  less  gifted.  And  when  St.  Jerome, 
near  seven  hundred  and  fifty  years  after  the  decease  of  Plato,  commemorated 
with  triumph  the  victory  of  unlettered  Christians  over  the  accomplishments 
and  genius  of  paganism,  he  illustrated  the  magnitude  of  the  vi  tory  by  sing 
ling  out  Plato  and  Aristotle  as  the  representatives  of  vanquished  philosophy." 
— G  rote's  Preface  to  Life  of  Plato. 


234  CONCOED  DATS. 

after  they  had  given  citizens  to  it,  are  hints  of  our  mod 
ern  infant  schools  and  woman's  rights  movements.  His 
teachings  on  social  reform  generally  are  the  best  of 
studies,  in  some  respects  more  modern  than  the  views 
of  our  time,  —  anticipating  the  future  legislation  of 
communities.  On  the  matter  of  race  and  temperament 
he  thought  profoundly,  comprehending  as  have  few  of 
our  naturalists  the  law  of  descent,  complexions,  phy 
siognomical  features  and  characteristics. 


SOCRATES. 

"  Socrates,"  says  Grote,  "  disclaimed  all  pretensions  to 
wisdom.  He  announced  himself  as  a  philosopher,  that 
is,  as  ignorant,  yet  as  painfully  conscious  of  his  ignor 
ance  and  anxiously  searching  for  wisdom  as  a  correc 
tion  to  it,  while  most  men  were  equally  ignorant,  but 
unconscious  of  their  ignorance,  believed  themselves  to 
be  already  wise,  and  delivered  confident  opinions  with 
out  ever  having  analyzed  the  matters  on  which  they 
spoke.  The  conversation  of  Socrates  was  intended, 
not  to  teach  wisdom,  but  to  raise  men  out  of  this  false 
persuasion  of  wisdom,  which  he  believed  to  be  the 
natural  state  of  the  human  mind,  into  that  mental  con 
dition  which  he  called  philosophy. 

"  His  '  Elenchus '  made  them  conscious  of  their  ignor 
ance,  and  anxious  to  escape  from  it,  and  prepared  for 
mental  efforts  in  search  of  knowledge  ;  in  which  search 
Socrates  assisted  them,  but  without  declaring,  and  even 


AUGUST.  235 

professing  inability  to  declare,  where  the  truth  Lay  in 
which  this  search  was  to  end.  He  considered  this 
change  itself  a  great  and  serious  improvement,  convert 
ing  what  was  evil,  radical,  ingrained,  into  evil  super 
ficial  and  moveable,  which  was  a  preliminary  condition 
to  any  positive  acquirement.  The  first  thing  to  be  done 
was  to  create  searchers  after  truth,  men  who  look  at 
the  subject  for  themselves,  with  earnest  attention,  and 
make  up  their  own  individual  convictions.  Even  if 
nothing  ulterior  were  achieved,  that  alone  would  be  a 
great  deal. 

"  Such  was  the  scope  of  the  Socratic  Conversation,  and 
such  the  conception  of  philosophy  (the  peculiarity  which 
Plato  borrowed  from  Socrates),  which  is  briefly  noted 
in  the  passage  of  the  Lysis  and  developed  in  the  Pla 
tonic  dialogues,  especially  in  the  Symposeum." 

Observe  how  confidently  the  great  master  of  Dialectic 
went  into  the  discussion,  dealing  directly  all  the  while 
with  the  Personality  of  his  auditors,  and  driving  straight 
through  the  seeming  windings  of  the  discourse  at  the 
seats  of  thought  and  of  sensibility,  by  his  searching 
humor,  his  delightful  irony,  thus  making  the  mind  the 
mind's  guest  and  querist  in  his  suggestive  colloquy. 
Affecting  perhaps  to  know  less  than  any,  he  yet  showed 
those  with  whom  he  conversed  how  little  they  knew, 
while  professing  to  know  so  much,  convicting  them  of 
being  ignorant  of  their  own  ignorance,  real  wisdom  be 
ginning  in  humility  and  openness  to  instruction.  If 
he  puzzled  and  perplexed,  it  was  but  to  reduce  their 


236  CONCORD  DATS. 

egotism  and  ignorance,  and  prepare  them  for  receiving 
the  truths  he  had  to  lay  open  in  themselves.  Plato, 
Aristotle,  the  German  Methodists,  but  define  and  de 
liver  the  steps  of  his  method. 


BERKELEY. 

Of  modern  philosophic  writers,  Berkeley  has  given 
the  best  example  of  the  Platonic  Dialogue,  in  his 
"  Minute  Philosopher,"  a  book  to  be  read  with  profit,  for 
its  clearness  of  thought  and  method.  His  claim  to  the 
name  of  metaphysician  transcends  those  of  most  of  his 
countrymen.  He,  first  of  his  nation,  dealt  face  to  face 
with  ideas  as  distinguished  from  scholastic  fancies  and 
common  notions,  and  thus  gave  them  their  place  in  the 
order  of  mind ;  and  this  to  exhaustive  issues,  as  his 
English  predecessors  in  thought  had  failed  to  do.  His 
idealism  is  the  purest  which  the  British  Isles  have  pro 
duced.  Platonic  as  were  Cudworth,  Norris,  Henry  More, 
in  cast  of  thought  less  scholastic  than  Taylor  of  Nor 
wich,  —  who  was  an  exotic,  rather,  transplanted  from 
Alexandrian  gardens,  —  Berkeley's  thinking  is  indige 
nous,  strong  in  native  sense  and  active  manliness.  His 
works  are  magazines  of  rare  and  admirable  learning, 
subtleties  of  speculation,  noble  philanthropies.  They 
deserve  a  place  in  every  scholar's  library,  were  it  but  to 
mark  the  fortunes  of  thought,  and  accredit  the  poet's 
admiring  line :  — 

«*  To  Berkeley  every  virtue  under  heaven." 


AUGUST.  237 


BOEHME. 

MONDAY,  9. 

WRITE  to  Walton,  the  British  Boehmist,  whose 
letters  interest  by  the  information  they  contain 
of  himself  and  of  his  literary  ventures.  Any  disciple 
of  the  distinguished  Mystic  and  student  of  his  works, 
living  in  foggy  London  in  these  times,  is  as  significant 
and  noteworthy  as  are  students  of  Hegel  in  St.  Louis.* 
Mysticism  is  the  sacred  spark  that  has  lighted  the  piety 
and  illuminated  the  philosophy  of  all  places  and  times. 
It  has  kindled  especially  and  kept  alive  the  profoundest 
thinking  of  Germany  and  of  the  continent  since  Boehme's 
first  work,  "The  Aurora,"  appeared.  Some  of  the  deepest 
thinkers  since  then  have  openly  acknowledged  their  debt 
to  Boehme,  or  secretly  borrowed  without  acknowledg 
ment  their  best  illustrations  from  his  writings.  It  is  con 
ceded  that  his  was  one  of  the  most  original  and  subtlest 
of  minds,  and  that  he  has  exercised  a  deeper  influence 
on  the  progress  of  thought  than  any  one  since  Plotinus. 
Before  Bacon,  before  Newton,  Swedenborg,  Goethe,  he 
gave  theories  of  nature,  of  the  signatures  of  colors  and 

*  A  mystic  book  entitled  u  Quinquenergia,  or  Proposals  for  a  new  Prac 
tical  Theology,"  by  Henry  8.  Button,  was  published  in  London  in  1854.  Mr. 
Button  is  plainly  tinctured  with  Boehme's  theosophy,  if  not  a  disciple  of  his 
as  appears  from  his  book.  It  is  a  volume  of  singular  originality,  and  the 
latest  modern  attempt  at  a  Genesis  from  First  Principles  that  I  have  met  with. 
It  seems  to  have  attracted  few  readers  in  England  or  in  this  country. 


238  CONCOED  DAYS. 

forms,  of  the  temperaments,  the  genesis  of  sex,  the  lapse 
of  souls,  and  of  the  elementary  worlds .  He  stripped  life 
of  its  husk,  and  delivered  its  innermost  essence.  Instead 
of  mythology,  he  gave,  if  not  science,  the  germs,  if 
nothing  more.  And  when  the  depths  of  his  thinking 
have  been  fathomed  by  modern  observers  it  will  be  soon 
enough  to  speak  of  new  revelations  and  arcanas.  IJis 
teeming  genius  is  the  genuine  mother  of  numberless 
theories  since  delivered,  from  whose  trunk  the  natural 
sciences  have  branched  forth  and  cropped  out  in  scientific 
systems.  And  like  Swedenborg,  it  has  borne  a  theology, 
cosmology,  illustrious  theosophists  and  naturalists,  — 
Law,  Leibnitz,  Oken,  Schelling,  Goethe,  Baader,  and 
other  philosophers  of  Germany. 

His  learned  English  disciple  and  translator,  Rev. 
William  Law,  an  author  once  highly  esteemed  and  much 
read  by  a  former  generation  of  pietists,  says  of  him  in 
his  Introduction  to  Boehme's  Works  :  — 

"  Whatsoever  the  great  Hermes  delivered  in  ora 
cles,  or  Pythagoras  spoke  by  authority,  or  Socrates 
or  Aristotle  affirmed,  whatever  divine  Plato  prophesied, 
or  Plotinus  proved,  —  this  and  all  this,  or  a  far  higher 
and  profounder  philosophy,  is  contained  in  Boehme's 
writings.  "  And  if  there  be  any  friendly  medium  that 
can  possibly  reconcile  these  ancient  differences  between 
the  divine  Wisdom  that  has  fixed  her  place  in  Holy 
Writ  and  her  stubborn  handmaid,  natural  Reason,  —  this 
happ}'  marriage  of  the  Spirit  of  God  and  the  soul,  this 
wonderful  consent  of  discords  in  harmony,  —  we  shall 


AUGUST.  239 

find  it  in  great  measure  in  Boehme's  books  ;  only  let  not 
the  non  or  misunderstanding  of  the  most  rational  reader 
(if  not  a  little  sublimed  above  the  sphere  of  common 
reason)  be  imputed  as  a  fault  to  this  elevated  philos 
opher,  no  more  than  it  was  to  the  divine  Plotinus,  whose 
scholars,  even  after  much  study,  failed  to  comprehend 
many  of  his  doctrines." 

Dr.  Henry  More,  with  a  qualifying  discrimination  of 
Law's  estimate,  writes  :  — 

"  Jacob  Boehme,  I  conceive,  is  to  be  reckoned  in  the 
number  of  those  whose  imaginative  faculty  has  the  pre 
eminence  above  the  rational,  and  though  he  was  a  holy 
and  good  man,  his  natural  complexion,  notwithstanding, 
was  not  destroyed  but  retained  its  property  still,  and 
therefore  his  imagination  being  very  busy  about  divine 
things,  he  could  not  without  a  miracle  fail  of  becoming 
an  enthusiast,  and  of  receiving  divine  truths  upon  the 
account  of  the  strength  and  vigor  of  his  fancy,  which 
being  so  well  qualified  with  holiness  and  sanctity,  proved 
not  unsuccessful  in  sundry  apprehensions,  but  in  others 
it  fared  with  him  after  the  manner  of  men,  the  sagacity 
of  his  imagination  failing  him,  as  well  as  the  anxiety 
of  reason,  does  others  of  like  integrity  with  himself."* 

*  Students  of  Boehme  have  been  few  and  far  between.  Edward  Taylor 
appears  to  have  been  Bochme's  most  distinguished  disciple  in  England 
before  William  Law.  He  published  "  A  Compendious  View  of  the  Teutonic 
Philosophy."  London,  1670.  Also  Jacob  Boehme's '' Philosophy  Unfolded 
in  divers  Considerations  and  Demonstrations,  and  a  Short  Account  of  his 
Life."  London,  1690.  John  Sparrow  published  Boehme's  Tracts  and 
Epistles.  London,  1662.  John  Pordage's  '•  Theologia  Mystica,  or  the  Mys 
tic  Divinity  of  the  Eterual  Invisibles,"  London,  168L>,  is  a  rare  volume. 


240  CONCORD  DAYS. 


MR.  WALTON'S  LETTER. 

"By  Theosophy  I  understand  the  true  science  of 
Deity,  Nature,  and  Creature.  There  are  two  classes 
of  theosophists,  or  true  mystic  philosophers.  The  one 
such  as  Gichtel,  the  editor  of  the  first  German  edition 
of  Jacob  Boehme  (whose  letters  and  life  in  seven  vol 
umes  are  now  being  translated  into  English,  and  if  the 
necessary  funds  can  be  raised  they  will  be  printed.) 
Gichtel  truly  experimented  the  regenerated  life  of 
Christianity  according  to  the  science  thereof  contained 
in  Boehme's  writings  ;  Bramwell  fathomed  Christianity 
according  to  the  simple  prima  facie  representation 
thereof  in  the  Gospel ;  in  like  manner  in  another  form 
Terstegan  was  also  a  high  proficient  therein,  as  were  also 
some  of  the  ancient  mystics  and  ascetics  of  France, 
Spain,  and  Germany,  as  referred  to  in  the  Cyclopedia. 
In  the  path  of  Gichtel  there  have  been  few  and  remote 
followers. 

u  The  other  class  is  composed  of  those  who  have  intel 
lectually  fathomed  the  scope  of  Boehme's  philosophy, 
such  as  Freher,  Law,  Lee,  Pordage,  and  others. 

"  As  to  the  pretended  independent  '  seers/  outsiders 
of  Boehme's  revelations,  —  whose  names  need  not  be 
mentioned,  —  these  are  of  course  not  to  be  admitted 
into  the  category  of  the  standard  theologists,  being 
mere  phantasmatists  or  visionaries,  and  who,  though 
uttering  a  great  many  good,  and  to  some  recondite 
minds,  surprising  things,  say  in  effect  nothing  but  what 


AUGUST.  241 

is  to  be  found  in  a  much  more  solid  and  edifying  form 
in  the  writings  of  ancient  classic  divines  and  phi 
losophers. 

"  As  you  will  see  by  the  accompanying  printed  papers, 
I  assert  that  for  theosophy  to  have  its  true  efficiency  in 
the  world,  there  must  not  only  be  an  intellectual  ac 
quaintance  with  all  nature,  magical,  mental,  and  physi 
cal,  —  all  which  is  present  in  every  point  of  sense  and 
mental  essence  as  revealed  in  Boehme,  —  but  there 
must  be  the  actual  realization  of  the  translocated  prin 
ciples  of  man's  threefold  being  into  their  original  co- 
relative  positions,  and  this  in  high  confirmed  reality ; 
which  is  only  another  expression  for  the  theological  and 
alchymical  term,  '  regeneration.'  And  further,  I  say, 
there  must  therewith  be  a  profound  knowledge  of  the 
science  and  manifestation  of  animal  magnetism. 

"  As  to  spiritism,  of  course  at  present  theosophy  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  except  to  contemplate  the  work 
ings  of  the  magia  of  the  fantasy  of  the  grounds  of 
nature,  as  shown  in  it. 

"  I  may  just  observe,  that,  if  you  are  not  acquainted 
with  the  facts,  you  will  find  in  V.  Schubert,  a  German 
Professor,  some  most  interesting  interpretations  of  and 
deductions  from  Boehme' s  philosophy.  He  is  a  truly 
ingenious  elucidator  of  many  of  nature's  secrets  purely 
from  his  conception  of  Boehme,  and  for  general  read 
ing  in  theosophy,  is  much  more  interesting  than  Baader, 
who  is  very  technical.  But,  as  for  myself,  I  cannot 
derive  from  these  or  any  other  authors^  wlistfd»y  under- 
11 


242  CONCORD  DATS. 

standing  requires  that  is  be}Tond  the  manuscripts  and 
printed  authors  in  my  sole  possession.  Those  I  have, 
contain  the  philosophy  of  nature  and  creation  far  more 
lucidly  and  classically  opened  than  is  found  in  any 
modern  publication,  for  it  is  fundamentally  demonstrated 
therein  ;  whereas  in  Hamburger  and  others,  Boehme  is 
merely  sj'stematized,  leaving  his  profundities  in  their 
original  abyss,  like  ore  in  the  mine ;  whereas  my 
authors  work  it  all  out  as  far  as  they  could  in  their  day. 

"  I  am  and  have  been  long  engaged  in  preparing  a  com 
pendium  of  the  true  principles  of  all  Being,  and  setting 
forth  all  its  stages  up  to  the  present  time  :  all  which  is 
a  great  mystery  both  to  philosophy  and  science,  as  you 
are  doubtless  aware.  It  has  never  yet  been  done,  and 
is  indeed  the  grand  desideratum.  We  have  never  yet 
been  able  to  reconcile  the  seeming  or  allowed  declaration 
of  Scripture  concerning  the  creation,  with  the  New 
tonian  philosophy,  and  the  disclosures  of  modern  chymic, 
electric,  and  other  sciences,  so  as  to  present  a  solid, 
united,  and  convincing  chain  of  the  history  of  nature 
from  the  first  point  of  mental  essence,  to  the  present 
state  of  physical  things.  And  yet  there  must  be  such 
a  history  and  knowledge  thereof,  latent  in  the  human 
mind,  and  in  the  present  daylight  of  theosophy  and 
physical  science,  capable  of  being  educed  thereout,  in  a 
manner  commending  itself  on  the  sight  of  it,  with  almost 
the  force  of  self-evidence,  though  in  some  points  ap 
pearing  to  clash  with  the  seeming  sense  of  Scripture. 

"  My  labors  are  in  the  preparation  of  a  series  of  sym- 


AUGUST.  243 

bolic  illustrations  (like  Quarle's  Emblems),  whereby, 
with  the  accompanying  text,  to  produce  this  kind  of 
self-evident  conviction.  Of  course  I  only  open  the  pro 
cedure  to  the  present  time.  You  may  conceive  the  time 
and  labor  and  expense  entailed  by  such  an  effort.  Also 
the  fierce  daily  long  discussions  with  an  avowed  and 
actual  rationalist  opponent,  whom  I  have  for  the  pur 
pose,  without  which  the  truth  or  science  cannot  be  made 
to  rise  up  apprehensively  in  the  mind,  and  then  only 
in  a  mind  in  which  theosophical  and  modern  scientific 
knowledge  is,  as  it  were,  all  in  living  activity,  like  a 
magic  looking-glass,  wherein  the  images  are  all  living, 
and  can  be  called  forth  instantly  into  visibility,  as  re 
quired  by  the  formula  of  each  successive  consideration 
arising  in  the  discussion,  or  during  private  meditation 
and  reading  of  Boehme,  having  an  object  in  view. 

"  The  science  of  all  things  lies  in  the  Mind.  In  New 
ton  this  plant  of  Jacob  Boehme  was  largely  cultivated 
for  his  day  ;  but  now,  by  means  of  modern  science,  the 
true  history  of  all  being  can  be  brought  forth  as  a  com 
plete  logical  tree.  And  this  is  what  the  world  wants,  a 
perfect  philosophy  and  a  perfect  theology,  as  one  only 
sound  of  the  word  of  nature.  This  was  the  divine  object 
in  giving  the  last  dispensation  through  Boehme,  though 
this  was  such  a  chaos  yet  unavoidable.  From  which 
revelation  of  the  ground  and  ntystery  of  all  things  have 
ensued  all  the  grand  regenerating  discoveries  of  modern 
science,  as  I  have  shown,  and  can  now  more  fully 
demonstrate.  All  date  from  that  new  opened  puncture 
of  divine  light  in  Boehme. 


244  CONCOED  DAYS. 

"  I  may  just  mention  that  I  have  a  collection  of  all  the 
chief  editions  of  Boehme,  in  German,  Dutch,  English, 
and  French,  together  with  other  elucidations  whereby  to 
produce  a  new  and  most  harmonious  edition  of  Boehme. 
Indeed  such  a  thing  cannot  be  accomplished  without  the 
means  in  my  possession.  I  also  have  at  command  with 
me  the  literary  and  critical  knowledge  requisite  to  pro 
duce  a  correct  translation.  For  there  are  numerous 
errors  of  sense  in  the  German  as  in  the  English  copies. 
Indeed  in  some  cases  the  sense  of  the  passage  is  not 
apprehensible.  I  trust  the  world  will  call  for  this 
work  before  I  die,  in  order  that  I  may  have  the  pleasure 
of  preparing,  or  rather  directing,  its  accomplishment. 
If  I  can  procure  a  copy  of  the  Cyclopedia  you  write 
about,  I  shall  be  happy  to  present  it  to  you.* 
"  I  am,  dear  Sir,  Yours  very  truly, 

"  CHRISTOPHER  WALTON. 

"LONDON,  15th  February,  18G8." 

"  The  object  of  these  publications,"  says  Mr.  Walton, 
in  his  Prospectus,  "  and  of  their  distribution  in  the 
libraries  of  Great  Britain  and  the  United  States,  is  to 
induce  and  promote  in  a  general  manner,  the  study  of 


*  The  "  Cyclopedia  of  Pure  Christian  Theology  and  Theosophic  Science," 
is  to  contain  the  works  of  Boehme  and  his  distinguished  followers,  Freher, 
Gechtel,  Pordage,  Lee,  Law,  and  others.  The  first  volume  is  already  printed 
for  private  circulation,  and  deposited  in  the  chief  libraries  of  Europe  and 
America.  It  contains  six  hundred  and  eighty-eight  closely  printed  pages, 
chiefly  of  exposition  and  comment  on  Boehme,  with  biographical  accounts 
of  Boehniists  and  of  their  works  interspersed  in  voluminous  notes. 


AUGUST.  245 

pure  metaphysical  science,  commencing  at  its  root  and 
ground  in  Deity,  thence  through  all  those  principles  of 
nature,  eternal  and  temporal,  of  mind,  spirit,  and  body, 
which  develop  and  concentre  themselves  in  the  form, 
constitution,  and  support  of  man,  as  such,  with  a  view 
to  render  it  subservient  to  its  true  end  and  design, 
namely,  the  radical  purification  of  theology  throughout 
the  earth,  and  the  final  resolution  of  it  into  a  fixed  and 
progressive  science,  and  art  in  its  kind,  as  contemplated 
and  provided  for  by  Christianity." 

For  those  interested  in  the  history  of  Mysticism, 
"  Vaughan's  Hours  with  the  Mystics,"  published  in 
London,  1856,  is  an  interesting  volume,  full  of  infor 
mation  communicated  by  way  of  conversation,  and  in 
an  attractive  style. 


CRABBE    ROBINSON'S    DIARY. 

THURSDAY,  19. 

CRABBE  ROBINSON'S  Diary  is  interesting;  all 
he  tells  us  of  Landor,  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  is 
especially  so.  Tne  book  gives,  perhaps,  the  best  per 
sonal  and  literary  picture  of  the  times  in  which  he 
lived.  Few  men  had  a  wider  circle  of  literary  acquaint 
ances  than  the  author.  His  book  is  a  real  addition  to 
contemporary  literature,  and  shows  the  value  of  the 
Diary  for  preserving  in  an  attractive  form  what  would 
otherwise  have  been  lost  to  the  world.  Robinson  is 


246  CONCOED  DAYS. 

no  Boswell ;  he  knew  what  to  omit,  what  to  commit 
to  writing,  gave  fair  transcripts  of  what  he  saw,  with 
out  prepossession  or  prejudice. 


COLERIDGE. 

What  Robinson  tells  of  Coleridge  is  especially  no 
ticeable. 

u  I  used,"  he  says,  "  to  compare  him  as  a  disputant 
to  a  serpent,  —  easy  to  kill  if  you  assume  the  offensive  ; 
but  if  you  attack  him,  his  bite  is  mortal.  Some  time 
after  writing  this,  when  I  saw  Madame  De  Stael,  in 
London,  I  asked  her  what  she  thought  of  him.  She 
replied,  '  He  is  very  great  in  monologue,  but  he  has  no 
idea  of  dialogue.' " 

Perhaps  not.  Yet  with  his  equal,  he  would  not  have 
been  found  wanting  in  this  respect.  Less  English  than 
German  in  genius,  he  would  have  been  on  terms  of 
equality  with  thinkers  of  all  times.  But  for  his  intro 
duction  of  German  ideas  into  English  literature,  we 
had  waited  a  generation  or  more.  He  comprehended 
and  interpreted  the  ideas  and  metKbds  of  its  great 
thinkers.  Better  than  most,  he  fulfilled  Plato's  canon, 
that  "  only  the  gods  discriminate  and  define."  I  find 
him  the  most  stimulating  of  modern  British  thinkers. 
He  had  wider  sympathies  with  pure  thought,  and  cast 
more  piercing  glances  into  its  essence  and  laws  than 
any  contemporary. 


AUGUST.  247 

I  must  repeat  my  sense  of  obligation  to  him  for  the 
quickening  influence  which  the  perusal  of  his  pages 
always  awakens,  at  every  paragraph  making  me  his 
debtor  for  a  thought,  an  image,  which  it  were  worth 
while  to  have  lived  for,  so  stimulating  is  his  phrase  to 
imagination  and  reason  alike ;  scarcely  less  to  under 
standing  and  memory.  If  his  mysticism  tinge  his 
speculations  with  its  shifting  hues,  and  one  threads  the 
labyrinth  into  which  he  conducts  with  wonder  and 
amazement,  he  yet  surrenders  unreservedly  to  his 
guide,  sure  of  coming  to  the  light,  with  memorable 
experiences  to  reward  him  for  the  adventure. 

His  appreciation  of  the  Greek,  as  of  the  Teutonic 
genius,  is  the  more  remarkable  when  we  consider  how 
rarely  his  countrymen  have  comprehended  foreign 
ideas;  and  that  Shakespeare  even  found  in  him  his 
first  interpreter. 

In  his  Literary  Remains,  we  find  these  remarkable 
notes  on  the  Greek  drama:  — 

"It  is  truly  singular  that  Plato  —  whose  philosophy 
and  religion  were  both  exotic  at  home,  and  a  mere  op 
position  to  the  finite  in  all  things,  genuine  prophet  and 
anticipator  of  the  protestant  era  —  should  have  given 
in  his  dialogue  of  the  Banquet  a  justification  of  our 
Shakespeare.  For  he  relates  that,  when  all  the  other 
guests  had  either  dispersed  or  fallen  asleep,  Socrates 
only,  together  with  Aristophanes  and  Agathon,  re 
mained  awake ;  and  that,  while  he  continued  to  drink 
with  them  out  of  a  large  goblet,  he  compelled  them. 


248  CONCORD  DAYS.    . 

though  most  reluctantly,  to  admit  that  it  was  the  busi 
ness  of  one  and  the  same  genius  to  excel  in  tragic  and 
comic  poetry  ;  or,  that  the  tragic  poet  ought,  at  the  same 
time,  to  contain  within  himself  the  powers  of  comedy. 
Now,  as  this  was  certainly  repugnant  to  the  entire 
theory  of  the  ancient  critics,  and  contrary  to  all  their 
experience,  it  is  evident  that  Plato  must  have  fixed  the 
eye  of  his  contemplation  on  the  innermost  essentials  of 
the  drama,  abstracted  from  conditions  of  age  and  coun 
try.  In  another  passage  he  even  adds  the  reason,  namely  : 
that  opposites  illustrate  each  other's  nature,  and  in  their 
struggle  draw  forth  the  strength  of  the  combatants, 
and  display  the  conquered  as  sovereign  even  in  the 
territories  of  the  rival  power." 

Again  :  "  The  tragic  poet  idealizes  his  characters  by 
giving  to  the  spiritual  part  of  our  nature  a  more  decided 
preponderance  over  animal  cravings  and  impulses  than 
is  met  with  in  real  life ;  the  comic  poet  idealizes  his 
characters  by  making  the  animal  the  governing  power, 
and  the  intellectual  the  mere  instrument.  But  as  trag 
edy  is  not  a  collection  of  virtues  and  perfections,  but 
takes  care  only  that  the  vices  and  imperfections  shall 
spring  from  the  passions,  errors,  and  prejudices  which 
arise  of  the  soul  ;  so  neither  is  comedy  a  mere 
crowd  of  vices  and  follies,  but  whatever  qualities  it 
represents,  even  though  they  are  in  a  certain  sense 
amiable,  it  still  displays  them  as  having  their  origin  in 
some  dependence  on  our  lower  nature,  accompanied 
with  a  defect  in  true  freedom  of  spirit  and  self-subsist- 


AUGUST.  249 

ence,  and  subject  to  that  unconnection  by  contradiction 
of  inward  being,  to  which  all  folly  is  owing." 

Coleridge,  while  writing  this  masterly  analysis  of  the 
seats  of  the  tragic  and  comic  in  man's  inner  being, 
and  with  the  text  of  Plato  and  of  Shakespeare  before 
him,  must  have  been  contemplating  the  springs  of 
his  own  defects,  the  strength  twinned  with  his  weak 
nesses,  which  ever  made  him  the  helpless  demigod  he 
was  ;  aspiring  ever,  yet  drawn  downward  by  the  leash 
of  his  frailties,  as  tragic  a  character  as  any  that  Shake 
speare  himself  has  drawn. 


SELDEN'S    TABLE    TALK. 

TUESDAY,  24. 

EARNED  Selden,"  learned  in  civil  and  political 
wisdom  as  were  few  of  his  great  contemporaries. 
If  his  book  of  Table  Talk  has  less  repute  than  Bacon's 
famous  Essays,  like  that,  opened  anywhere,  it  displays 
the  author's  eminent  discretion,  his  comprehensive  under 
standing,  apposite  illustration  of  his  theme.  His 
homely,  familiar  manner,  has  its  attractions  as  well  for 
the  scholar  as  for  the  common  reader  ;  pregnant  as  are 
his  sentences  with  his  great  good  sense,  rare  learning, 
bringing  abstruse  subjects  home  to  the  affairs  of  life  in 
a  style  at  once  perspicuous  and  agreeable.  "  He  was  a 
person,"  says  Lord  Clarendon,  "whom  no  character  can 
flatter,  or  transmit  in  any  expressions  equal  to  his 


250  CONCOED  DAYS. 

merit.  He  was  of  such  stupendous  learning  in  all  kinds 
of  languages  that  a  man  would  have  thought  he  had 
been  entirely  conversant  among  books,  and  had  never 
spent  an  hour  but  in  reading  and  writing.  Yet  his  hu 
manity,  courtesy,  and  affability  were  such,  that  he  would 
have  been  thought  to  have  been  bred  in  the  best  courts, 
but  that  his  good-nature,  charity,  and  delight  in  doing 
good,  and  in  communicating  all  he  knew,  exceeded  his 
breeding.  His  style  in  all  his  writings  seems  harsh,  and 
sometimes  obscure,  which  is  not  wholly  to  be  imputed 
to  the  abstruse  subjects  of  which  he  commonly  treated, 
but  to  a  little  undervaluing  of  style,  and  too  much  pro 
pensity  to  the  language  of  antiquuv  ;  but  in  his  conver 
sation  he  was  the  most  clear  disco urser,  "and  had  the 
best  faculty  of  making  hard  things  easy,  and  of  pre 
senting  them  to  the  understanding,  of  any  man  that 
hath  been  known." 

Coleridge,  who  never  let  any  person  of  eminence,  in 
thought  or  erudition,  escape  his  attention,  says  :  u  There 
is  more  weighty  bullion  sense  in  this  book  (The  Table 
Talk)  than  I  ever  found  in  the  same  number  of  pages 
of  any  uninspired  writer.*' 

Ben  Jonson  addressed  him  thus  :  — 

.    .    .    "  You  that  have  been 
Ever  at  home,  yet  have  all  countries  seen, 
And  like  a  compass  keeping  one  foot  still 
Upon  your  centre,  do  your  circle  fill 
Of  general  knowledge.     .    .     . 
I  wondered  at  the  richness,  but  am  lost 
To  see  the  workmanship  so  excel  the  cost ! 


AUGUST.  251 

To  mark  the  excellent  seasoning  of  your  style, 

And  manly  elocution !  not  one  while 

With  horror  rough,  then  rioting  with  wit, 

But  to  the  subject  still  the  colors  fit, 

In  sharpness  of  all  search,  wisdom  choice, 

Newness  of  sense,  antiquity  of  voice  1 

I  yield,  I  yield.    The  matter  of  your  praise 

Floods  in  upon  me,  and  I  cannot  raise 

A  bank  against  it ;  nothing  but  the  round 

Large  clasp  of  nature  such  a  wit  can  bound." 

One's  pen  cannot  be  better  drawn  across  paper,  than 
in  transcribing  some  of  his  wise  and  pithy  sayings :  — 

"  Books.  'T  is  good  to  have  translators,  because  they 
serve  as  a  comment,  so  far  as  the  judgment  of  the  man 
goes." 

"  Quoting  of  authors  is  most  for  matter  of  fact ;  and 
then  I  cite  them  as  I  would  produce  a  witness,  some 
times  for  a  free  expression  ;  and  then  I  give  the  author 
his  due,  and  gain  myself  praise  for  reading  him." 

"  Henry  the  Eighth  made  a  law  that  all  men  might 
read  the  Scripture,  except  servants ;  but  no  woman  ex 
cept  ladies  and  gentlewomen  who  had  leisure  and  might 
ask  somebody  the  meaning  The  law  was  repealed  in 
Edward  Sixth's  days." 

"  Laymen  have  best  interpreted  the  hard  places  in 
the  Bible,  such  as  Scaliger,  Grotius,  Salmasius,  etc. 
The  text  serves  only  to  guess  by ;  we  must  satisfy  our 
selves  fully  out  of  the  authors  that  lived  about  those 
times." 

v 


252  CONCORD  DAYS. 

"  Ceremony.  Ceremony  keeps  up  all  things.  'T  is 
like  a  penny  glass  to  a  rich  spirit,  or  some  excellent 
water  ;  without  it  the  water  were  spilt,  the  spirit  lost." 
• 

"  Damnation.  To  preach  long,  loud,  and  damnation, 
is  the  way  to  be  cried  up.  We  love  a  man  that  damns 
us,  and  we  run  after  him  to  save  us." 

u  Friends.  Old  friends  are  best.  King  James  used 
to  call  for  his  old  shoes,  they  were  easiest  to  his  feet." 

"  Language.  Words  must  be  fitted  to  a  man's  mouth. 
'T  was  well  said  of  the  fellow  that  was  to  make  a  speech 
for  my  Lord  Mayor :  he  desired  to  take  measure  of  his 
lordship's  mouth." 

^Learning.  No  man  is  wiser  for  his  learning;  it 
may  administer  matter  to  work  in,  or  objects  to  work 
upon  ;  but  wit  and  wisdom  are  born  with  a  man." 

"  Power.     Syllables  govern  the  world." 

"Reason.  The  reason  of  a  thing  is  not  to  be  in 
quired  after  till  you  are  sure  the  thing  itself  is  so.  We 
commonly  are  at  '  What 's  the  reason  of  it  ? '  before  we 
are  sure  of  the  thing.  'T  was  an  excellent  question  of 
my  Lady  Cotton,  when  Sir  Robert  Cotton  was  magni 
fying  of  a  shoe  which  was  Moses'  or  Noah's,  and  won 
dering  at  the  strange  shape  and  fashion  of  it,  — '  But, 
Mr.  Cotton/  says  she,  '  are  you  sure  it  is  a  shoe  ? ' " 


AUGUST.  253 

"  Religion.  Eeligion  is  like  the  fashion  ;  one  man 
wears  his  doublet  slashed,  another  laced,  another  plain  ; 
but  every  man  has  a  doublet.  So  every  man  has  his 
religion.  We  differ  about  trimming." 

"  We  look  after  religion  as  the  butcher  did  after  his 
knife,  when  he  had  it  in  his  mouth." 


WOMAN. 

SUNDAY,  29. 

Ever  the  feminine  fades  into  mystery, 
Pales  undistinguished  into  the  powers  of  nature, 
There  working  with  earnest  force  in  silence, 
Bashful  and  beautiful  in  its  reserves. 

I  XIVINATION  seems  heightened  and  raised  to  its 
JL-J  highest  power  in  woman,  like  mercury,  the  more 
sensitive  to  the  breath  of  its  atmosphere ;  —  the  most 
delicate  metre  of  character,  as  if  in  the  finest  persons, 
the  sex  predominated  to  give  the  salient  graces  and  gifts 
peculiar  to  woman.  The  difference  appears  to  be  of  bias, 
not  of  positive  power,  of  thought  and  feeling  differently 
disposed,  and  where  the  extremes  merge  towards  unity, 
not  easily  discriminated.  Still,  each  preserves  its 
distinctive  traits  under  all  differences,  neither  being 
mistaken  for  the  other.  A  woman's  thought  is  not 
taken  for  a  man's,  nor  the  contrary ;  though  the  out 
ward  expression  were  the  same,  each  preserves  its 
sexual  tone  and  co!or.  Any  seeming  exceptions  are 


254  CONCORD  DAYS. 

counterfeits,  and  confirm  the  law  that  sentiment  is 
feminine,  thought  masculine,  by  whomsoever  expressed  ; 
neither  can  blend  fully  and  confound  the  other  under  any 
metamorphosis,  sex  being  a  constant  factor  individual 
izing  the  personality  of  souls.  The  ancient  philosophers 
had  so  good  an  opinion  of  the  sex,  that  they  ascribed 
all  sciences  to  the  Muses,  all  sweetness  and  morality 
to  the  Graces,  and  prophetic  inspiration  to  the  Sibyls. 
Women  have  been  subject  alike  to  the  admiration 
and  contempt  of  men.  It  were  handsomer  to  quote  the 
poet's  praises  than  blame,  the  Greek  poets  JEschylus, 
Sophocles,  and  Euripides  especially.  I  like  to  enrich 
my  pages  with  some  of  their  fine  lines,  and  not  less  for 
the  new  interest  taken  in  the  sex. 


"  Wedlock  is  a  state  preordained  of  Destiny,  and  its 
Obligations  are  more  binding  than  an  oath." 

"  Bite  thy  lips  or  ever  thou  speak  words  of  impurity." 

"  Can  heaven's  fair  beams  show  a  fond  wife  a  sight 
More  welcome  than  her  husband  from  his  wars 
Returned  with  glory,  when  she  opes  the  gate 
And  springs  to  welcome  him." 

Euripides. 
"  Men  need  not  try  where  women  fail." 

"  To  a  father  waxing  old 
Nothing  is  dearer  than  a  daughter  ;  sons 
Have  spirits  of  a  higher  pitch,  but  less  inclined 
To  sweet  endearing  tenderness." 


AUGUST.  255 

"  Happy  is  it  so  to  place 
A  daughter ;  yet  it  pains  a  father's  heart 
When  he  delivers  to  another's  house 
A  child,  the  object  of  his  tender  care." 

"  A  wise  man  in  his  house  should  find  a  wife 
Gentle  and  courteous,  or  no  wife  at  all." 

"  With  silence  of  the  tongue 
And  cheerfulness  of  look  I  entertained 
My  husband ;  where  my  province  to  command 
I  knew,  and  where  to  yield  obedience  to  him." 

"  When  the  wife  endures 
The  ungentle  converse  of  a  husband  rude 
In  manners,  in  his  person  rude,  to  die 
Were  rather  to  be  wished." 

"  If  well  accorded,  the  connubial  state 
From  all  its  strings  speaks  perfect  harmony ; 
If  ill  at  home,  abroad  the  harsh  notes  jar, 
And  with  rude  discord  wound  the  ear  of  peace." 

"  For  women  are  by  nature  formed 
To  feel  some  consolation  when  their  tongue 
Gives  utterance  to  the  afflictions  they  endure." 

"  O  trebly  blest  the  placid  lot  of  those, 
Whose  hearth-foundations  are  in  pure  love  laid, 
Where  husband's  breast  with  tempered  ardor  glows, 
And  wife,  oft  mother,  is  in  heart  a  maid." 

Sophocles. 

"  Note  well  a  house  that  is  prosperous  among  men,  and  you 
Will  find  virtue  among  its  women  folk." 

"  Seek  not  thy  fellow-citizens  to  guide 
Till  thou  canst  order  well  thine  own  fireside." 


SEPTEMBER. 


"While  slowly  o'er  the  hills 
The  unnerved  day  piles  his  prodigious  sunshine. 
Here  be  gardens  of  Hesperian  mould, 
Recesses  rare,  temples  of  1  irch  and  fern, 
Perfumes  of  light-green  sumac,  ivy  thick, 
And  old  stone  fences  tottering  to  their  fall, 
And  gleaming  lakes  that  cool  invite  the  bath, 
And  most  aerial  mountains  for  the  West." 

—  Channing. 


WALDEN    POND. 

MONDAY,  6. 

TO  Walden  with  May,  who  lakes  a  pencil  sketch  for 
her  collection.  Thoreau's  hermitage  has  disap 
peared,  and  the  grounds  are  overgrown  with  pines  and 
sumac,  leaving  the  site  hardly  traceable.  The  shores 
of  Walden  are  as  sylvan  as  ever  near  Thoreau's  haunt, 
but  have  been  shorn  of  wood  on  the  southern  side.  No 
spot  of  water  in  these  parts  has  a  more  interesting 
history.  It  well  deserved  the  poet's  praises  while 
Thoreau  dwelt  on  its  shores. 

"  It  is  not  far  beyond  the  village  church, 
After  we  pass  the  wood  that  skirts  the  road, 
A  lake,  —  the  blue-eyed  Walden,  —  that  doth  smile 
Most  tenderly  upon  its  neighbor  pines, 
And  they  as  if  to  recompense  this  love, 
In  double  beauty  spread  their  branches  forth. 
This  lake  has  tranquil  loveliness  and  breadth, 
And  of  late  years  has  added  to  its  charms, 
For  one  attracted  to  its  pleasant  edge 
Has  built  himself  a  little  hermitage, 
Where  with  much  piety  he  passes  life. 


260  CONCORD  DAYS. 

"  More  fitting  place  I  cannot  fancy  now, 
For  such  a  man  to  let  the  line  run  off 
The  mortal  reel,  such  patience  hath  the  lake, 
Such  gratitude  and  cheer  are  in  the  pines. 
But  more  than  either  lake  or  forest's  depths 
This  man  has  in  himself:  a  tranquil  man, 
With  sunny  sides  where  well  the  fruit  is  ripe, 
Good  front,  and  resolute  bearing  to  this  life, 
And  some  serener  virtues,  which  control 
This  rich  exterior  prudence,  virtues  high, 
That  in  the  principles  of  things  are  set, 
Great  by  their  nature  and  consigned  to  him, 
Who,  like  a  faithful  merchant,  does  account 
To  God  for  what  he  spends,  and  in  what  way. 

"  Thrice  happy  art  thou,  Walden !  in  thyself, 
Such  purity  is  in  thy  limpid  springs ; 
In  those  green  shores  which  do  reflect  in  thee, 
And  in  this  man  who  dwells  upon  thy  edge, 
A  holy  man  within  a  hermitage. 
May  all  good  showers  fall  gently  into  thee ; 
May  thy  surrounding  forests  long  be  spared, 
And  may  the  dweller  on  thy  tranquil  shores 
Here  lead  a  life  of  deep  tranquillity, 
Pure  as  thy  waters,  handsome  as  thy  shores, 
And  with  those  virtues  which  are  like  the  stars." 

"When  I  first  paddled  a  boat  on  Walden,"  wrote 
Thoreau,  "  it  was  completely  surrounded  by  thick  and 
lofty  pine  and  oak  woods,  and  in  some  spots,  coves  of 
grape  vines  had  run  over  the  trees  and  formed  bowers 
under  which  a  boat*  could  pass.  The  hills  which  form 
its  shore  are  so  steep,  and  the  woods  on  them  so  high, 


SEPTEMBER.  261 

that  as  you  looked  down  the  pond  from  the  west  end,  it 
had  the  appearance  of  an  amphitheatre.  For  some 
kind  of  sylvan  spectacle,  I  have  spent  many  an  hoar 
when  I  was  younger,  floating  over  its  surface  as  the 
zeplvyr  willed,  having  paddled  my  boat  to  the  middle, 
and  lying  on  my  back  across  the  seats  in  a  summer 
forenoon,  and  looking  into  the  sky,  dreaming  awake 
until  I  was  aroused  by  my  boat  touching  the  sand, 
and  I  arose  to  see  what  shore  my  fates  had  impelled 
me  to.  In  these  days,  when  idleness  was  the  most 
attractive  and  productive  industry,  many  a  forenoon 
have  I  stolen  away,  preferring  to  spend  thus  the  most 
valued  part  of  the  day.  For  I  was  rich,  if  not  in 
money,  in  sunny  hours  and  summer  days,  and  spent 
them  lavishly.  Nor  do  I  regret  that  I  did  not  waste 
more  of  them  behind  a  counter,  or  in  a  workshop,  or 
at  the  teacher's  desk,  in  which  last  two  places  I  have 
spent  many  of  them. 

"I  must  say  that  I  do  not  know  what  made  me 
leave  the  pond.  I  left  it  as  unaccountably  as  I  went  to 
it.  To  speak  sincerely,  I  went  there  because  I  had  got 
ready  to  go.  I  left  it  for  the  same  reason. 

"  These  woods !  why  do  I  not  feel  their  being  cut 
more  freely  ?  Does  it  not  affect  me  nearly  ?  The  axe 
can  deprive  me  of  much.  Concord  is  sheared  of  its 
pride.  I  am  certain  by  the  loss  attached  to  my  native 
town  in  consequence,  one  and  a  main  link  is  broken.  I 
shall  go  to  Walden  less  frequently. 

"  Look  out  what  window  I  will,  my  eyes  rest  in  the 


262  CONCORD  DAYS. 

distance  on  a  forest.  Is  this  circumstance  of  no  value  ? 
Why  such  pains  in  old  countries  to  plant  gardens  and 
parks?  A  certain  sample  of  wild  nature,  a  certain 
primitiveness  ?  The  towns  thus  bordered  with  a  fringe 
and  tasselled  border,  each  has  its  preservers.  Methinks 
the  town  should  have  more  supervisors  to  control  its 
parks  than  it  has.  It  concerns  us  all  whether  these 
proprietors  choose  to  cut  down  all  the  woods  this  win 
ter  or  not.  I  love  to  look  at  Ebby  Hubbard's  oaks  and 
pines  on  the  hillside  from  Brister's  Hill,  and  am  thanivful 
that  there  is  one  old  miser  who  will  not  sell  or  cut  his 
woods,  though  it  is  said  that  they  are  wasting.  '  It  is 
an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good.' " 

"  Walk  round  Walden  Pond  these  warm  winter  days. 
The  wood-chopper  finds  that  the  wood  cuts  easier  than 
when  it  had  the  frost  in  it,  though  it  does  not  split  so 
readily.  Thus  every  change  in  the  weather  has  its  in 
fluence  on  him,  and  is  appreciated  by  him  in  a  peculiar 
way.  The  wood-cutter  and  his  practices  and  experi 
ences  are  more  to  be  attended  to ;  his  accidents,  per 
haps,  more  than  any  others,  should  mark  the  epochs  in 
a  winter's  day.  Now  that  the  Indian  is  gone,  he 
stands  nearest  to  nature.  Who  has  written  the  history 
of  his  day  ?  How  far  still  is  the  writer  of  books  from 
the  man,  his  old  playmate,  it  may  be,  who  chops  in  the 
woods  ?  There  are  ages  between  them.  Homer  refers 
to  the  progress  of  the  wood-cutter's  work  to  mark  the 
time  of  day  on  the  plains  of  Troy.  And  the  inference 
from  such  premises  commonly  is,  that  he  lived  in  a 


SEPTEMBER.  263 

more  primitive  state  of  society  than  the  present.  But 
I  think  this  is  a  mistake.  Like  proves  like  in  all  ages, 
and  the  fact  that  I  myself  should  take  pleasure  in  pre 
ferring  the  simple  and  peaceful  labors  which  are  always 
proceeding  ;  that  the  contrast  itself  always  attracts  the 
civilized  poet  to  what  is  rudest  and  most  primitive  in 
his  contemporaries  ;  —  alHhis  rather  proves  a  certain 
interval  between  the  poet  and  the  wood-chopper,  whose 
labor  he  refers  to,  than  an  unusual  nearness  to  him, 
on  the  principle  that  familiarity  breeds  contempt.  Ho 
mer  is  to  be  subjected  to  a  very  different  kind  of  criti 
cism  from  any  he  has  received.  That  reader  who  most 
fully  appreciates  the  poet,  and  derives  the  greater 
pleasure  from  his  work,  lives  in  circumstances  most 
like  those  of  the  poet  himself. 

"  This  afternoon  I  throw  off  my  outside  coat,  a  mild 
spring  day.  I  must  hie  me  to  the  meadows.  The  air 
is  full  of  bluebirds.  The  ground  is  almost  entirely 
bare.  The  villagers  are  out  in  the  sun,  and  every  man 
is  happy  whose  work  takes  him  out-of-doors.  I  go  by 
Sleepy  Hollow  towards  the  great  fields.  I  lean  over  a 
rail  to  hear  what  is  in  the  air,  liquid  with  the  bluebird's 
warble.  My  life  partakes  of  infinity.  The  air  is  deep 
as  our  natures.  Is  the  drawing  in  of  this  vital  air  at 
tended  with  110  more  glorious  results  than  I  witness  ? 
The  air  is  a  velvet  cushion  against  which  I  press  my 
ear.  I  go  forth  to  make  new  demands  on  life.  I  wish 
to  begin  this  summer  well.  To  do  something  in  it 
worthy  and  wise.  To  transcend  my  daily  routine  and 


264  CONCORD  DATS. 

that  of  my  townsmen,  to  have  my  immortality  now, — 
that  it  be  in  the  quality  of  my  daily  life,  —  to  pay  the 
greatest  price,  the  greatest  tax  of  any  man  in  Concord, 
and  enjoy  the  most !  I  will  give  all  I  am  for  my  no 
bility.  I  will  pay  all  my  days  for  my  success.  I  pray 
that  the  life  of  this  spring  and  summer  may  be  fair  in 
my  memory.  May  I  dare  as  I  have  never  done.  May 
I  purify  myself  anew  as  with  fire  and  water,  soul  and 
body.  May  my  melody  not  be  wanting  to  the  season. 
May  I  gird  myself  to  be  a  hunter  of  the  beautiful,  that 
nought  escape  me.  May  I  attain  to  a  youth  never  at 
tained.  I  am  eager  to  report  the  glory  of  the  universe  : 
may  I  be  worthy  to  do  it ;  to  have  got  through  regard 
ing  human  values,  so  as  not  to  be  distracted  from 
regarding  divine  values.  It  is  reasonable  that  a  man 
should  be  something  worthier  at  the  end  of  the  year 
than  he  was  at  the  beginning." 

A  delightful  volume  might  be  compiled  from  Thoreau's 
Journals  by  selecting  what  he  wrote  at  a  certain  date 
annually,  thus  giving  a  calendar  of  his  thoughts  on  that 
day  from  year  to  year.  Such  a  book  would  be  instruc 
tive  in  many  ways,  —  to  the  naturalist,  the  farmer, 
woodman,  scholar;  and  as  he  was  wont  to  weave 
a  sensible  moral  into  his  writings,  it  would  prove 
a  suggestive  treatise  on  morals  and  religion  also. 
Not  every  preacher  takes  his  text  from  his  time,  his 
own  eyes,  ears,  and  feet,  in  his  sensible,  superior 
manner. 


rpiiE 

-L     mi 


SEPTEMBER.  265 


THE    IDEAL    CHURCH. 

MONDAY,  13. 
HE  divinity  students  come  according  to  appoint 


ment  and  pass  the  day.  It  is  gratifying  to  be 
sought  by  thoughtful  young  persons,  especially  by 
young  divines,  and  a  hopeful  sign  when  graduates  of  our 
schools  set  themselves  to  examining  the  foundations  of 
their  faith  ;  the  ceilings  alike  with  underpinnings  of  the 
world's  religious  ideas  and  institutions,  their  genesis 
and  history.  Plainly,  the  drift  of  thinking  here  in  New 
England,  if  not  elsewhere,  is  towards  a  Personal  Theism, 
inclusive  of  the  faiths  of  all  races,  embodying  the  sub 
stance  of  their  Sacred  Books,  with  added  forms  and 
instrumentalities  suited  to  the  needs  of  our  time.  The 
least  curious  observer  (I  tell  my  visitors)  cannot  fail 
to  see  that  at  no  previous  period  in  our  religious  history, 
had  so  profound  and  anxious  inquiries  been  made  into 
the  springs  and  foundations  of  spiritual  truths.  The 
signs  of  our  time  indicate  that  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a 
recasting  of  the  old  forms.  Always  there  had  been  two 
divisions  in  the  theological  as  in  the  political  and  social 
spheres,  —  the  conservative  and  the  radically  progres 
sive.  This  division  marks  itself  at  the  present,  so 
sweeping  is  the  wave  of  religious  speculation,  not  only 
among  professed  Christians,  but  among  the  thoughtful 
outside  of  churches.  Wherever  we  look,  earnest  men 
12 


266  CONCOED  DATS. 

are  pondering  in  what  manner  they  can  best  serve  Goc* 
and  man. 

Let  us  discriminate  religious  truth  from  mere  opin 
ions.  The  fruit  of  temperament,  culture,  individ 
uality,  these  are  wont  to  be  local,  narrow,  exclusive. 
The  planting  of  a  church  to  which  all  men  can  sub 
scribe,  demands  a  common  bond  of  sympathy,  the 
feeling  of  brotherhood,  mutual  respect,  peculiarities, 
culture,  respect  for  old  and  young.  Such  is  the  bond 
of  union  for  the  New  Church.  The  essence  of  all 
creeds  is  God,  Personal,  Incarnate,  without  whom  a 
church  and  divine  worship  were  impossible.  Not  to 
enter  into  the  metaphysics  of  creeds  and  philosophy  of 
systems,  let  us  sketch  an  outline  of  our  Ideal  Church. 

Our  forms  are  of  the  past,  not  American.  Times 
modify  forms.  The  world  of  thought  moves  fast ;  what 
is  good  for  one  time  may  ill  suit  another.  The  culture 
of  past  ages  is  stealing  into  our  present  thought,  deep 
ening,  widening  it.  Sects  are  provincial,  geographical ; 
the  coming  church  is  to  speak  to  every  need,  every 
power  of  humanity.  A  revelation  is  not  a  full  revela 
tion  which  fails  to  touch  the  whole  man,  quicken  all  his 
powers  into'  beauty  and  strength  of  exercise. 

First,  of  the  architecture.  Let  this  represent  the 
essential  needs  of  the  soul.  Our  dwelling-houses  best 
typify  the  tender  domesticities  of  life ;  let  the  church 
edifice  embody  more  of  this  familiar  love.  In  the  or 
dering  of  the  congregation,  let  age  have  precedence  ; 
give  the  front  seats  to  the  eldest  members ;  let  fam- 


SEPTEMBER.  267 

Hies  sit  together,  so  that  the  element  of  family  affec 
tion  be  incorporated  in  the  worship.  An  arrange 
ment  of  the  pews  in  semicircles  will  bring  all  more 
nearly  at  equal  gradation  of  distance  from  the  speaker, 
whose  position  is  best  slightly  elevated  above  the  congre 
gation.  Pictures  and  statues,  representing  to  the  senses 
the  grand  events  of  the  religious  history  of  the  past, 
may  be  an  essential  part  of  the  church  furniture  ;  the 
statues  embodying  the  great  leaders  of  religious  thought 
of  all  races.  These  are  not  many  ;  the  world  owes  its 
progress  to  a  few  persons.  The  divine  order  gives  one 
typical  soul  to  a  race.  Let  us  respect  all  races  and 
creeds,  as  well  as  our  own ;  read  and  expound  their 
sacred  books  like  our  Scriptures.  Constituting  a  body 
of  comparative  divinity,  each  is  a  contribution  to  the 
revelation  made  to  mankind  from  time  to  time.  Could 
any  one  well  remain  exclusive  or  local  in  his  thought 
from  such  studies  and  teachings?  Christianity,  as  the 
religion  of  the  most  advanced  nations,  is  fast  absorbing 
the  beauty,  the  thought,  the  truth  of  other  religions, 
and  this  fact  should  find  expression  also. 

Let  there  be  frequent  interchange  of  preachers  and 
teachers,  since  few  can  speak  freshly  to  the  same  con 
gregation  for  every  Sunday  in  the  year ;  only  the 
freshest  thought,  the  purest  sentiments,  were  their  due. 
Let  the  services  be  left  to  the  speaker's  selection.  Let 
the  music  be  set  to  the  best  lyrical  poetry  of  all  ages, 
poems  sometimes  read  or  recited  as  part  of  the  ser 
vices.  As  for  prayer,  it  may  be  spoken  from  an  over- 


268  CONCOED  DAYR. 

flowing  heart,  may  be  silent,  or  omitted  at  the  option 
of  the  minister. 

Let  the  children  have  a  larger  share  in  the  religious 
services  than  hitherto ;  one  half  of  the  day  be  appro 
priated  to  them.  Who  can  speak  to  children  can 
address  angels ;  true  worship  is  childlike.  "  All  na 
tions,"  said  Luther,  "  the  Jews  especially,  school  their 
children  more  faithfully  than  Christians.  And  this  is 
one  reason  why  religion  is  so  fallen.  For  iill  its  hopes 
of  strength  and  potency  are  ever  committed  to  the  gen 
eration  that  is  coming  on  to  the  stage.  And  if  this  is 
neglected  in  its  youth,  it  fares  with  Christianity  as  with 
a  garden  that  is  neglected  in  the  spring-time.  There 
is  no  greater  obstacle  in  the  way  of  piety  than  neglect 
in  the  training  of  the  young.  If  we  would  reinstate 
religion  in  its  former  glory,  we  must  improve  and 
elevate  the  children,  as  it  was  done  in  days  of  old."  * 


*  It  appears  from  "  Letchford's  Plain  Dealings  concerning  New  England," 
that  the  church  in  Concord  was  the  first  in  the  colony  that  adopted  the 
practice  of  catechising  the  children  on  Sundays.  "  The  unmarried  people," 
he  says,  "  were  also  required  to  answer  questions,  after  which  Mr.  Bulkeley 
gave  expositions  and  made  applications  to  the  whole  congregation."  And 
this  practice  soon  found  its  way  into  all  the  churches,  became  a  part  of  the 
Sunday  service  in  the  church,  in  the  family  at  last.  From  these  it  passed, 
subsequently,  into  the  schools,  a  part  of  Saturday  forenoon  being  devoted 
to  recitations,  and  where  the  parents  were  of  different  persuasions,  the 
teachers  heard  these  from  the  Westminster,  or  Church  of  England  cate 
chisms,  accordingly.  Some  of  us  re/nember  committing  both  to  memory, 
and  having  the  benefit  of  so  much  comparative  divinity  as  these  furnished 
at  that  early  age. 


SEPTEMBER.  269 


COLLYEE. 

Our  young  divines  may  study  Beecher  and  Collyer,  if 
they  will  learn  the  types  of  preaching  which  the  people 
most  enjoy  and  flock  to  hear.  Collyer,  without  preten 
sion  to  eloquence,  is  most  eloquent  in  his  plain,  homely, 
human  way.  He  meets  his  audience  as  the  iron  he 
once  smote,  and  his  words  have  the  ring  of  true  steel. 
He  speaks  from  crown  to  toe,  and  with  a  delightful 
humor  that  gives  his  rhetoric  almost  a  classic  charm,  his 
Yorkshire  accent  adding  to  the  humane  quality  of  his 
thought.  There  is  as  little  of  scholarly  pretence  as  of 
priestly  assumption  in  his  address,  and  he  makes  his 
way  by  his  placid  strength,  clear  intelligence,  breadth 
of  sympathy,  putting  the  rhetoric  of  the  schools  to  the 
blush. 


BEECHER 

I  once  entered  Beecher's  church  with  a  friend  who 
was  not  often  seen  in  such  sanctuaries.  Aisles,  body, 
galleries,  every  slip,  every  chair,  all  w'ere  occupied, 
many  left  standing.  The  praise,  the  prayer,  the  christ 
ening,  —  there  were  a  dozen  babes  presented  for  bap 
tism. —  all  were  devout,  touching,  even  to  tears  at 
times.  I  know  I  wept,  while  my  friend  was  restive, 
fanc}dng  himself,  as  he  declared,  in  some  Pagan  fane. 
The  services  all  seemed  becoming,  however.  Here  was 


270  CONCOED  DAYS. 

no  realm  of  Drowsy  Head.  The  preaching  was  the 
more  effective  for  its  playfulness,  point,  strength, 
pertinency.  Coming  from  the  heart,  the  doctrine 
found  the  hearts  of  its  hearers.  The  preacher  showed 
his  good  sense,  too,  in  omitting  the  trite  phrases  and 
traditions,  speaking  straight  to  his  points  in  plain, 
homely  speech,  that  carried  the  moral  home  to  its  mark. 
It  was  refreshing  to  get  a  touch  of  human  nature,  the 
preaching  so  often  failing  in  this  respect.  The  speaker 
took  his  audience  along  with  him  by  his  impetuosity, 
force  of  momentum,  his  wit  playing  about  his  argu 
ment,  gathering  power  of  persuasion,  force  of  state 
ment  as  he  passed.  His  strong  sense,  broad  humanity, 
abounding  animal  spirits,  humor,  anecdote,  perhaps 
explain  the  secret  of  his  power  and  popularity. 


IDEALS. 

SUNDAY,  19. 

OUR  instincts  are  idealists.  Contradicting  im 
pressions  of  the  senses,  they  prompt  us  forth  to 
the  noblest  aims  and  endeavors.  Aspirants  for  the  best, 
they  prick  us  forward  to  its  attainment,  the  more 
successfully  as  our  theories  of  life  lift  us  above  the 
planes  of  precedent  and  routine,  whereon  the  senses 


SEPTEMBER.  271 

confine  us,  to  the  mount  of  vision  and  of  renovating 
ideas.  Nor  are  these  too  lofty  or  too  beautiful  to  be 
unattainable.  'T  is  when  practice  strays  wide  and  falls 
below  that  they  appear  visionary  and  fall  into  disre 
pute.  Only  those  who  mount  the  summits  command 
the  valleys  at  their  base. 

"  When  we  ourselves  from  our  own  selves  do  quit, 
And  each  thing  else,  then  an  all-spreading  love 
To  the  vast  universe  our  soul  doth  fit, 
Makes  us  half  equal  to  all-seeing  Jove ; 
Our  mighty  wings,  high-stretched,  then  clapping  light, 
We  brush  the  stars,  and  make  them  seem  more  bright." 

Enthusiasm  is  essential  to  the  successful  attain 
ment  of  any  high  endeavor ;  without  which  incentive 
one  is  not  sure  of  his  equality  to  the  humblest  under 
taking  even.  And  he  attempts  little  worth  living  for  if 
he  expects  completing  his  task  in  an  ordinary  life-time. 
His  translation  is  for  the  continuance  of  his  work  here 
begun,  but  for  whose  completion  time  and  opportunity 
were  all  too  narrow  and  brief.  Himself  is  the  success 
or  failure.  Step  by  step  one  climbs  the  pinnacles  of 
excellence  ;  life  itself  is  but  the  stretch  for  that  moun 
tain  of  holiness.  Opening  here  with  humanit}r,  'tis  the 
aiming  at  divinity  in  ever-ascending  circles  of  aspiration 
and  endeavor.  Who  ceases  to  aspire,  dies.  Our  pur 
suits  arc  our  prayers ;  our  ideals  our  gods.  And  the 
more  persistent  our  endeavors  to  realize  these,  the  less 
distant  they  seem.  They  were  not  gods  could  we  ap 
proach  them  at  once.  We  were  the  atheists  of  oui 


272  CONCOED  DAYS. 

senses  without  them.  All  of  beauty  and  of  beatitude 
we  conceive  and  strive  for,  ourselves  are  to  be  sometime. 
Man  becomes  godlike  as  he  strives  for  divinitj7,  and 
divinity  ever  stoops  to  put  on  humanity  and  cleify  man 
kind.  Character  is  mythical.  The  excellent  are  unap 
proachable  save  by  like  excellence.  A  person  every 
way  intelligible  falls  short  of  our  conception  of  great 
ness  ;  he  ceases  to  be  great  in  our  ej^es.  God  is  not 
God  in  virtue  of  attributes,  but  of  the  mystery  sur 
rounding  these.  Could  we  see  through  the  cloud  that 
envelopes  our  apprehensions,  he  were  here,  and  ourselves 
apparent  in  his  likeness.  "  God,"  says  Plato,  "  is  in 
effable,  hard  to  be  defined,  and  having  been  discovered, 
to  make  fully  known." 

"He  is  above  the  sphere  of  our  esteem, 
And  is  best  known  in  not  defining  him." 

•  Any  attempted  definition  would  include  whatsoever 
is  embraced  within  our  notion  of  Personality,  —  would 
exhaust  our  knowledge  of  nature  and  of  ourselves. 
Only  as  we  become  One  Personally  with  Him  do  we 
know  Uini  and  partake  of  his  attributes. 

"  In  the  soul  of  man,"  says  Berkeley,  "  prior  and 
superior  to  intellect,  there  is  a  somewhat  of  a  higher 
nature,  by  virtue  of  which  we  are  ONE,  and  by  means  of 
which  we  are  most  clearly  joined  to  the  Deity.  And  as 
by  our  intellect  we  touch  the  divine  intellect,  even  so 
by  our  oneness,  *  the  veiy  flower  of  our  essence,'  as 
Proclus  expresses  it,  we  touch  the  First  One.  Exist 


8EPTEMBEE.  273 

ence  and  One  are  the  same.  And  consequently,  our 
minds  participate  so  far  of  existence  as  they  do  of 
unity.  But  it  should  seem  the  personality  is  the  indi 
visible  centre  of  the  soul,  or  mind,  which  is  a  monad, 
so  far  forth  as  she  is  a  person.  Therefore  Person  is 
really  tljat  which  exists,  inasmuch  as  it  partakes  of  the 
divine  unity.  Number  is  no  object  of  sense,  but  an 
act  of  the  mind.  The  same  thing  in  a  different  con 
ception  is  one  or  many.  Comprehending  God  and  the 
creatures  in  one  general  notion,  we  may  say  that  all 
things  together  make  one  universe.  But  if  we  should 
say  that  all  things  make  one  God,  this  would  indeed  be 
an  erroneous  notion  of  God,  but  would  not  amount  to 
atheism,  so  long  as  mind,  or  intellect,  was  admitted  to 
be  the  governing  part.  It  is,  nevertheless,  more  re 
spectful,  and  consequently  the  truer  notion  of  God,  to 
suppose  Him  neither  made  up  of  parts,  nor  himself  to 
be  a  part  of  any  whole  whatsoever." 


THE  SEAECH  AFTER  GOD.* 

"  I  sought  Thee  round  about,  O  thou  my  God ! 

In  thine  abode, 
I  said  unto  the  earth,  «  Speak,  art  thou  He  ?  ' 

She  answered  me, 
'  I  am  not.'    I  inquired  of  creatures  all 

In  general 

Contained  therein ;  they  with  one  voice  proclaim 
That  none  amongst  them  challenged  such  a  name. 

*  By  Thomas  Hey  wood,  1590. 


274  CONCORD  DATS. 

"I  asked  the  seas  and  all  the  deeps  below, 

My  God  to  know ; 
I  asked  the  reptiles  and  whatever  is 

In  the  abyss ; 
Even  from  the  shrimp  to  the  leviathan 

Inquiry  ran,  — 

But  in  those  deserts  which  no  line  can  sound, 
The  God  I  sought  for  was  not  to  be  found. 

" I  asked  the  air  if  that  were  He?  but,  lo, 

It  told  me,  No. 
I  from  the  towering  eagle  to  the  wren 

Demanded  then 
If  any  feathered  fowl  'mongst  them  were  such  ? 

But  they  all,  much 

Offended  with  my  question,  in  full  choir 
Answered,  «  To  find  thy  God  thou  must  look  higher.1 

"  I  asked  the  heavens,  sun,  moon  and  stars ;  but  they 

Said,  '  We  obey 
The  God  thou  seek'st.'    I  asked  what  eye  or  ear 

Could  see  or  hear ; 
What  in  the  world  I  might  descry  or  know 

Above,  below? 

With  an  unanimous  voice,  all  these  things  said, 
'  We  are  not  God,  but  we  by  Him  were  made.' 

"  I  asked  the  world's  great  universal  mass 

If  that  God  was  ? 
Which  with  a  mighty  and  strong  voice  replied 

As  stupefied, 
'  I  am  not  He,  O  man !  for  know  that  I 

By  Him  on  high 

Was  fashioned  first  of  nothing,  thus  inflated, 
And  swayed  by  Him  by  whom  I  was  created/ 


SEPTEMBER.  275 

"I  sought  the  court,  but  smooth-tongued  flattery  there 

Deceived  each  ear : 
In  the  thronged  city  there  was  selling,  buying, 

Swearing  and  lying,  — 
In  the  country,  craft  in  simpleness  arrayed ; 

And  then  I  said, 

« Vain  is  ray  search,  although  my  pains  be  great, 
Where  my  God  is  there  can  be  no  deceit.' 

"A  scrutiny  within  myself  I  then 

Even  thus  began : 
*  O  man,  what  art  thou  ? '  What  more  could  I  say, 

Than  dust  and  clay  ? 
Frail  mortal,  fading,  a  mere  puff,  a  blast 

That  cannot  last,  — 

Enthroned  to-day,  to-morrow  in  an  urn, 
Formed  from  that  earth  to  which  I  must  return. 

"I  asked. myself,  what  this  great  God  might  be 

That  fashioned  me  ? 
I  answered,  the  all-potent,  solely  immense, 

Surpassing  sense, 
Unspeakable,  inscrutable,  eternal, 

Lord  over  all ; 

The  only  terrible,  strong,  just  and  true, 
Who  hath  no  end,  and  no  beginning  knew. 

"  He  is  the  well  of  life,  for  He  doth  give 

To  all  that  live 
Both  breath  and  being ;  he  is  the  Creator 

Both  of  the  water, 
Earth,  air  and  fire ;  of  all  things  that  subsist, 

He  hath  the  list ; 

Of  all  the  heavenly  host,  or  what  earth  claims, 
He  keeps  the  scroll,  and  calls  them  by  their  names. 


276  CONCORD  DATS. 

"  And  now,  my  God,  by  thine  illumining  grace, 

Thy  glorious  face 
(So  far  forth  as  it  may  discovered  be) 

Methinks  I  see ; 
And  though  invisible  and  infinite 

To  human  sight, 

Thou  in  thy  mercy,  justice,  truth,  appearest, 
In  which  to  our  weak  senses  thou  com'st  nearest. 

"  O,  make  us  apt  to  seek  and  quick  to  find 

Thou  God  most  kind ! 
Give  us  love,  hope,  and  faith  in  thee  to  trust, 

Thou  God  most  just! 
Remit  all  our  offences,  we  entreat, 

Most  Good,  most  Great ! 

Grant  that  our  willing,  though  unworthy  quest, 
May  through  thy  grace  admit  us  'mougst  the  blest.' 


MESSRS.  ROBERTS  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


TABLETS. 

By    A.    BRONSON 

CONTENTS. 

BOOK  I.  —  PRACTICAL.  —  The  Garden.     Recreation.     Fellow 
ship.     Friendship.     Culture.     Books.     Counsels. 

BOOK  II.  —  SPECULATIVE.  —  Instrumentalities.     Mind.     Gene 
sis.     Metamorphoses. 


"  This  book  of  practical  and  speculative  essays  invites  us  to  the  sunshine,  the 
delightful  atmosphere,  'the  cool  retreats,'  and  the  quiet  of  the  country."  —  Cin 
cinnati  Chronicle, 

"  Like  '  Walden,'  it  will  be  bought  and  read,  year  by  year,  by  the  select  few 
for  whom  it  was  written."  —  Hartford  Courant. 

"This  book  addresses  us  in  a  tone  of  remarkable  serenity  and  repose,  strange 
ly  contrasting  with  the  lively  bustle  of  the  age  and  land  we  live  in."  —  New 
York  Times, 

''The  moral  qualities  of  Mr.  Alcott  have  probably  more  to  do  with  the  secret 
of  his  influence  than  his  peculiar  mental  endowments.  Every  page  of  his  writ 
ings  evinces  a  singularly  pure  and  unworldly  character.  They  appear  more  like 
leaves  torn  from  some  fragrant  antique  volume,  than  the  products  of  this  com 
petitive,  rapacious  age.  They  transport  us  to  some  peaceful  island  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  ambitions  and  rivalries  of  the  day.  He  lives  in  a  serene  atmos 
phere,  free  from  all  secular  perturbations.  No  earthly  stain  discolors  the  spotless 
whiteness  of  his  soul.  It  is  no  wonder  that  he  is  listened  to  in  speechless  rever 
ence  by  an  esoteric  circle,  and  that  his  words  are  clothed  with  an  authority 
beyond  the  power  of  gaudy  rhetoric  or  purely  intellectual  demonstration."  — 
New  York  Tribune. 

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"MAKE      THEIR     ACQUAINTANCE ;      FOR     AMY     WILL     BE 
FOUND   DELIGHTFUL,    BETH   VERY   LOVELY,    MEG   BEAUTIFUL, 

AND  Jo  SPLENDID  !  "  —  The  Catholic  World. 


L 


ITTLE    WOMEN.      By   LOUISA  M.   ALCOTT. 
In  Two  Parts.     Price  of  each  $1.50. 

"  Simply  one  of  the  most  charming  little  books  that  have  fallen  into  our  hands 
for  many  a  day.  There  is  just  enough  of  sadness  in  it  to  make  it  true  to  life,  while 
it  is  so  full  of  honest  work  and  whole-souled  fun,  paints  so  lively  a  picture  of  a  home 
in  which  contentment,  energy,  high  spirits,  and  real  goodness  make  up  for  the  lack 
of  money,  that  it  will  do  good  wherever  it  finds  its  way.  Few  will  read  it  without 
lasting  profit."  —  Hartford  Courant. 

"  LITTLE  WOMEN.  By  Louisa  M.  Alcott.  We  regard  these  volumes  as  two 
of  the  most  fascinating  that  ever  came  into  a  household.  Old  and  young  read  them 
with  the  same  eagerness.  Lifelike  in  all  their  delineations  of  time,  place,  and 
character,  they  are  not  only  intensely  interesting,  but  full  of  a  cheerful  morality, 
that  makes  them  healthy  reading  for  both  fireside  and  the  Sunday  school.  We 
think  we  love  "Jo"  a  little  better  than  all  the  rest,  her  genius  is  so  happy  tem 
pered  with  affection." —  The  Guiding  Star* 

The  following  verbatim  copy  of  a  letter  from  a  "  little  woman  "  is  a  specimen 
of  many  which  enthusiasm  for  her  book  has  dictated  to  the  author  of  "Little 
Women:  "  — 

March  12,  1870. 

DKAR  Jo,  OR  Miss  ALCOTT,  —  We  have  all  been  reading  "  Little  Women,"  and 
we  liked  it  so  much  I  could  not  help  wanting  to  write  to  you.  We  think  you  are 
perfectly  splendid  ;  I  like  you  better  every  time  I  read  it.  We  were  all  so  disap 
pointed  about  your  not  marrying  Laurie  ;  I  cried  over  that  part,  —  I  could  not  help 
it.  We  all  liked  Laurie  ever  so  much,  and  almost  killed  ourselves  laughing  over 
the  funny  things  you  and  he  said. 

We  are  six  sisters  and  two  brothers :  and  there  were  so  many  things  in  "  Littie 
Women  "  that  seemed  so  natural,  especially  selling  the  rags. 

Eddie  is  the  oldest;  then  there  is  Annie  (our  Meg),  then  Nelly  (that's  me), 
May  and  Milly  (our  Beths),  Rosie,  Rollie,  and  dear  little  Carrie  (the  baby). 
Eddie  goes  away  to  school,  and  when  he  comes  home  for  the  holidays  we  have 
lots  of  fun,  playing  cricket,  croquet,  base  ball,  and  every  thing.  If  you  ever  want 
to  play  any  of  those  games,  just  come  to  our  house,  and  you  will  find  plenty  chil 
dren  to  play  with  you. 

If  you  ever  come  to ,  I  do  wish  you  would  come  and  see  us,  —  we  would 

like  it  so  much. 

I  have  named  my  doll  after  you,  and  I  hope  she  will  try  and  deserve  it. 

I  do  wish  you  would  send  me  a  picture  of  you.  I  hope  your  health  is  better, 
and  you  are  having  a  nice  time. 

If  you  write  to  me,  please  direct 111.    All  the  children  send  their  love. 

With  ever  so  much  love,  from  your  affectionate  friend, 

NELLY. 

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A 


N    OLD-FASHIONED    GIRL.      BY  LOUISA 

M.   ALCOTT.     With  Illustrations.     Price  $1.50. 


"  Miss  Alcott  has  a  faculty  of  entering  into  the  lives  and  feelings  of  children 
that  is  conspicuously  wanting  in  most  writers  who  address  them  ;  and  to  this  cause, 
to  the  consciousness  among  her  readers  that  they  are  hearing  about  people  like 
themselves,  instead  of  abstract  qualities  labelled  with  names,  the  popularity  of  her 
books  is  due.  Meg,  Jo,  Beth,  and  Amy  are  friends  in  every  nursery  and  school 
room,  and  even  in  the  parlor  and  office  they  are  not  unknown  ;  for  a  good  story  is 
interesting  to  older  folks  as  well,  and  Miss  Alcott  carries  on  her  children  to  man 
hood  and  womanhood,  and  leaves  them  only  on  the  wedding-day."  —  Mrs.  Sarah 
jf.  Hale  in  Godey^s  Ladies'  Book. 

"  We  are  glad  to  see  that  Miss  Alcott  is  becoming  naturalized  among  us  as  a 
writer,  and  cannot  help  congratulating  ourselves  on  having  done  something  to 
bring  about  the  result.  The  author  of  '  Little  Women '  is  so  manifestly  on  the 
side  of  all  that  is  'lovely,  pure,  and  of  good  report'  in  the  life  of  women,  and 
writes  with  such  genuine  power  and  humor,  and  with  such  a  tender  charity  and 
sympathy,  that  we  hail  her  books  with  no  common  pleasure.  '  An  Old-Fashioned 
Girl '  is  a  protest  from  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  against  the  manners  of  the 
creature  which  we  know  on  this  by  th«  name  of  '  the  Girl  of  the  Period  ; '  but  the 
attack  is  delivered  with  delicacy  as  weli  as  force."  —  The  London  Spectator. 

"  A  charming  little  book,  brimful  of  the  good  qualities  of  intellect  and  heart 
which  made  'Little  Women'  so  successful.  The  'Old- Fashioned  Girl'  carries 
with  it  a  teaching  specially  needed  at  the  piesent  day,  and  we  are  glad  to  know  it 
is  even  already  a  decided  and  great  success."  — New  York  Independent. 

"Miss  Alcott's.new  story  deserves  quite  as  great  a  success  as  her  famous  "  Lit 
tle  Women,"  and  we  dare  say  will  secure  it.  She  has  written  a  book  which  child 
and  parent  alike  ought  to  read,  for  it  is  neither  above  the  comprehension  of  the  one, 
nor  below  the  taste  of  the  other.  Her  boys  and  girls  are  so  fresh,  hearty,  and  nat 
ural,  the  incidents  of  her  story  are  so  true  to  life,  and  the  tone  is  so  thoroughly 
healthy,  that  a  chapter  of  the  '  Old-Fashioned  Girl '  wakes  up  the  unartificial  better 
life  within  us  almost  as  effectually  as  an  hour  spent  in  the  company  of  good,  hon 
est,  sprightly  children.  The  Old-Fashioned  Girl,  Polly  Milton,  is  a  delightful 
creafure  !  "  —  New  York  Tribune. 

"  Gladly  we  welcome  the  '  Old-Fashioned  Girl '  to  heart  and  home  !  Joyfully 
we  herald  her  progress  over  the  land  !  Hopefully  we  look  forward  to  the  time 
when  our  young  people,  following  her  example,  will  also  be  old-fashioned  in  purity 
of  heart  and  simplicity  of  life,  thus  brightening  like  a  sunbeam  the  atmosphere 
around  them." — Providence  Journal. 

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"  Miss  ALCOTT  is   REALLY  A  BENEFACTOR   OF  HOUSE 
HOLDS." —  //.  H. 


LITTLE  MEN :  Life  at  Plumfield  with  Jo's  Boys. 
Bj  LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT.     With  Illustrations.     Price 
$1-50. 

"  The  gods  are  to  be  congratulated  upon  the  success  of  the  Alcott  experiment, 
as  well  as  all  childhood,  young  and  old,  upon  the  singular  charm  of  the  little  men 
and  little  women  who  have  run  forth  from  the  Alcott  cottage,  children  of  a  maiden 
whose  genius  is  beautiful  motherhood."  —  The  Examiner. 

"  No  true-hearted  boy  or  girl  can  read  this  book  without  deriving  benefit  from 
the  perusal ;  nor,  for  that  matter,  will  it  the  least  injure  children  of  a  larger  growth 
to  endeavor  to  profit  by  the  examples  of  gentleness  and  honesty  set  before  them  in 
its  pages.  What  a  delightful  school  '  Jo '  did  keep  !  Why,  it  makes  us  want  to 
live  our  childhood's  days  over  again,  in  the  hope  that  we  might  induce  some  kind- 
hearted  female  to  establish  just  such  a  school,  and  might  prevail  upon  our  parents 
to  send  us,  '  because  it  was  cheap.'  .  .  .  We  wish  the  genial  authoress  a  long 
life  in  which  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  her  labor,  and  cordially  thank  her,  in  the  name 
of  our  young  people,  for  her  efforts  in  their  behalf."  —  Waterbury  American. 

"  Miss  Alcott,  whose  name  has  already  become  a  household  word  among  little 
people,  will  gain  a  new  hold  upon  their  love  and  admiration  by  this  little  book. 
It  forms  a  fitting  sequel  to  '  Little  Women,'  and  contains  the  same  elements  of 
popularity.  .  .  .  We  expect  to  see  it  even  more  popular  than  its  predecessor,  and 
shall  heartily  rejoice  at  the  success  of  an  author  whose  works  afford  so  much  hearty 
and  innocent  enjoyment  to  the  family  circle,  and  teach  such  pleasant  and  whole 
some  lessons  to  old  and  young.';  —  N.  Y.  Times. 

"  Suggestive,  truthful,  amusing,  and  racy,  in  a  certain  simplicity  of  style  which 
very  few  are  capable  of  producing.  It  is  the  history  of  only  six  months'  school- 
life  of  a  dozen  boys,  but  is  full  of  variety  and  vitality,  and  the  having  girls 
with  the  boys  is  a  charming  novelty,  too.  To  be  very  candid,  this  book  is  so 
thoroughly  good  that  we  hope  Miss  Alcort  will  give  us  another  in  the  same  genial 
vein,  for  she  understands  children  and  their  ways."  —  Phil.  Press. 

A  specimen  letter  from  a  little  woman  to  the  author  of"  Little  Men." 

June  17,  1871. 

DEAR  Miss  AJ.COTT,  —We  have  just  finished  "  Little  Men,"  and  like  it  so 
much  tliat  we  thought  we  would  write  and  ask  you  to  write  another  book  sequel  to 
"  Little  Men,"  and  have  more  about  Laurie  and  Amy,  as  we  like  them  the  best. 
We  are  the  Literary  Club,  and  we  got  the  idea  from  "Little  Women."  We  have 
a  paper  two  sheets  of  foolscap  and  a  half.  There  are  four  of  us,  two  cousins  and 
my  sister  and  myself.  Our  assumed  names  are :  Horace  Greeley,  President ;  Susan 
B.  Anthony,  Editor ;  Harriet  B.  Stowe,  Vice-President ;  and  myself,  Anna  C. 
Ritchie,  Secretary.  We  call  our  paper  the  "  Saturday  Night,"  and  we  all  write 
stories  and  have  reports  of  sermons  and  of  our  meetings,  and  write  about  the 
queens  of  England.  We  did  not  know  but  you  would  like  to  hear  this,  as  the 
idea  sprang  from  your  book  ;  and  we  thought  we  would  write,  as  we  liked  your 
book  so  much.  And  now,  if  it  is  not  too  much  to  ask  of  you,  I  wish  you  would 
answer  this,  as  we  are  very  impatient  to  know  if  you  will  write  another  book  ;  and 
please  answer  soon,  as  Miss  Anthony  is  going  away,  and  she  wishes  very  much  to 
hear  from  you  before  she  does.  If  you  write,  please  direct  to Street,  Brook 
lyn,  N.Y.  Yours  truly, 

ALICE . 

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